Who Is Anthony D DiNozzo Jr?
by donna2712
Summary: Who is Anthony D DiNozzo Jr? That is a question with many answers. I have been known as the playboy, the husband, the cop, the delinquent, the clown, the widower, the loyal St Bernard, the dad, the son, the friend, the scary dude, the heir, the partner, the director...An older Tony reflects on his life. All Characters will be included in the story as it develops
1. 1 - Introduction

**Introduction**

Who is Anthony D DiNozzo Jr? That is a question with many answers. I have been known as the playboy, the husband, the cop, the delinquent, the clown, the widower, the loyal St Bernard, the dad, the son, the friend, the scary dude, the heir, the partner, the director, the president …. Ok, maybe not the last one but definitely all of the others at one stage or another.

The sad thing is I have been so many things to so many people I kind of lost track of who I actually was a very, _very_ long time ago. Therefore, I thought I would put my life experiences on paper to try and unravel the enigma that is Anthony D DiNozzo Jr. A Memoir if you will …. Enjoy!


	2. 2 - Born

Anthony D DiNozzo Jr (I know you are just _dying_ to know what the D is for aren't you!) was born on July 8 1968 to Anthony D DiNozzo Sr (there is that mystery D again) and Emily Elizabeth DiNozzo (nee Paddington). I know, pretty boring beginning but it had to be done. Sadly I don't remember much of the birth (thankfully) and the next few years are a bit of a blur so I will skip ahead to my first childhood memory (queue light speed sequence from Star Wars).


	3. 3 - First Memory

My first childhood memory, or memories actually, was being in the parlour and crawling under my mother's _huge_ Steinway grand piano (well it was huge to a three year old) with my beloved childhood toy, a stuffed giraffe I called Giffy.

You see my mother was an acclaimed concert pianist with the London Philharmonic orchestra when she met my father. My father and grandfather were attending one of the orchestra's concerts in London when my father laid eyes on this beautiful, blonde angel (his words not mine). After the concert he managed to charm his way backstage, (not a difficult proposition for a DiNozzo) where he introduced himself. The rest, as they say, is history. Dad says they were inseparable for the next two weeks while he was in England, and when he asked her to marry him at the airport, she agreed. She quit the orchestra, packed all her worldly belongings, and she and her piano arrived in Dad's arms not two weeks later. They were wed 2 months after that. It was a real whirlwind romance. I always had the impression that maybe her family were not so enamoured by this brash American who took their beloved youngest daughter from them, but it didn't seem to stop her.

Anyway, back in the parlour, the afternoon sun would stream in through the large windows and fall across the floor and I would lay on my side with my head on Giffy and watch the dust dance in the light (not too much dust as we did have household staff to look after that sort of thing) while I listened to her play and drift off to sleep. I would listen to Chopin, Beethoven, Mozart (of course) and many other classic composers I never bothered to learn the names of. I could always tell her mood based on which pieces she chose to play. I never heard anyone else play the way she did, she was truly amazing.

I think that was the only time in my life I ever felt truly … safe.

My mother started to teach me how to play the piano from before I could walk. I would apparently sit on her lap and bang the keyboard with my fist, or often my head and as I grew she started on real lessons. I could play _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ (well one of Mozart's 12 variations of the original French tune) with both hands by my third birthday. She continued to give me lessons until I turned four, after which she hired Madame Genevieve who was nowhere near a nice to me as my mother was. She believed that by pointing out each mistake by snapping a ruler across my knuckles would encourage me to be more accurate … she was wrong.

By the end of my thrice-weekly two-hour lessons, my knuckles were red, swollen and often had to have ice packs put on them. If a child turned up to school today with the damage my knuckles showed the teachers would have to, by law, report it. I continued under Madame Genevieve's tutelage until I turned eight. I wouldn't touch a piano again until I want off to boarding school.


	4. 4 - Party

Three days after my fifth birthday my parents were throwing a big party at home for some of my dad's business associates. By business associates I mean actual business associates and not the _"business associates" _people assume of an influential Italian family. Although … some I am sure were pretty dodgy, knowing now what I do of my father.

Anyway, I had been paraded around in one of those god-awful sailor suits my mother was so fond of dressing me in. It was powder blue, which in itself is strange as after working with NCIS for some thirty+ years, I never once saw a sailor in powder blue. Anyway, no one at the party seemed to find that unusual and if they did I am sure politeness stopped them from mentioning it. My mother guided me around the partygoers, and as I met them I had to shake the hands of the men (firmly and two pump like a real DiNozzo), and kiss the hands of the ladies (also like a _real_ DiNozzo). Charming the ladies was instilled at an early age. I was then sat at the piano and performed (to the best of my young ability) Beethoven's _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik _for the easily impressed crowd.

I think this is the first time I actually realised I was more like a family asset than a loved child. It wouldn't be the last time I would feel like this unfortunately. It's not that my mother didn't love me, there were many times when she would completely enshroud me with her love and fun loving spirit (apparently I inherited her unique sense of humour, fun loving spirit and kind heart), and days where she was the most fun person on earth and thought of exciting, dangerous and thrilling adventures, but sadly her demons tended to rear their ugly heads and she would once again slip away and become that sad, teary woman I didn't like. As I grew up those fun times became the rarity and the sad times were the norm.

Anyway, back to the party. So I had performed my required sonly duties and was escorted back to my bedroom by my mother. I actually thought all women smelt like rose, mint and bourbon. Rose from her perfume and mint and bourbon from the Mint Julep she enjoyed so much. Those smells still bring a smile to my face even today.

Hmm, maybe that is why I got along with Gibbs so well. He smelt like bourbon and rosewood.

So after been tucked in and given a sloppy kiss on my cheek (well she actually missed my cheek and got my nose as she stumbled a bit leaning forward) she left to return to our guests and turned out the light. Now, as previously mentioned, my mother battled with some demons through her life and one of those demons was the demon of bad taste. That is the only way I can imagine her decorating the room of a small child the way she did. There were no toy cars or trains; no footballs or baseball gloves; not even a selection of kid's books that could be read to me before I fell asleep. No, my room consisted of a queen sized four-poster bed with blood red velvet drapes around it. The room had garish black and gold velvet wallpaper with heavy gold silk curtains, and a large black bat-winged chair in the corner that was too large and hard for me to actually sit on and all the furniture was dark mahogany. Nice! I was also not allowed to sleep with a nightlight. DiNozzo's aren't scared of the dark... apparently. And I wasn't, I was scared of the shadows that formed on the black and gold walls. Can't tell me they weren't shadows of vampires! Those shadows combined with the piercing screams (actually shrill laughter from drunk high society women) caused me to toss and turn for hours.

That was the first night I decided to sleep in my closet. I grabbed a pillow and my Giffy and crawled into that tight dark space that had no shadows and finally drifted off to sleep. It was the best nights sleep I had had in ages. It was so good, in fact that I didn't wake up until very late. After emerging from my safe haven, I put my pillow back on my bed and put my Giffy on the pillow and tucked him in (five year olds did not need stuffed toys) and went off in search of breakfast… well brunch really considering the time.

When I came out of my room I heard quite the kerfuffle coming from downstairs and as I descended the main staircase I could see police cars out the front through the large picture windows above the entrance doors. Woo hoo, how exciting! At the sight I took the rest of the stairs in record time and flew into the front sitting room only to be greeted by my mothers shocked tear stained face, my fathers shocked angry face, and various members of the household staff's shocked and relieved faces and a couple of policemen's just plain pissed off faces.

Apparently, when my Nanny, Berta, came in to wake me and found my bed empty and my Giffy gone, it was assumed, by my parents, that I had been abducted and was going to be used to extort an exorbitant ransom out of them. Whoopsie!

After my parents apologised profusely and assured the detective in charge that they would "discuss the boy's misdeed and subsequent waste of police resources", the police called in that I had been found. Other officers had to be recalled from many of my father's business associates (those dodgy ones previously mentioned) who had been at the top of the suspect list and didn't my father let me know how much damage that had done to the DiNozzo name. It was _always_ about the DiNozzo name.

After all the excitement was over (yes it was still exciting to a five year old) I was left to face my parents … alone. My mother hugged me tight, cried a lot, and then my father suggested she, "go into the bar and have a drink to calm yourself while Anthony is dealt with."

That was the first time I was hit with anything other than my fathers hand. Now I am not saying that I was abused as a child, but sometimes, my father's idea of punishment would be looked upon today as a harsh. I certainly never gave my kids anything more than a slap on the butt and that was only in extreme moments of fear for their lives … I'm talking about you Daniel! I digress.

I was marched up to my father's study and he took a riding crop off the wall (I had always wondered what it was for) and I was given 10 hard hits across my back and butt. My tears were met with further exasperation from my father, as DiNozzo's don't cry. This was a rule I broke many times in my life, but rarely in front of witnesses. After the whipping and subsequent hour-long lecture, I was sent to my room without lunch (as you recall I had already missed breakfast) and was provided a scant dinner in my room later in the evening. I was allowed out to go to the bathroom for my bath (which stung like a bitch as Dettol was added to make sure my cuts didn't get infected).

During the entire day, not one person actually asked me where I had been, nor did my mother come to check on me. I was advised by our housekeeper Julia (Berta had been fired after my father had finished with me) that mother was "poorly". A term I later realised was code for "too drunk to walk straight".

I continued to sleep in my closet on and off for many years after that (even into adult hood on occasion) but _always_ remembered to set my alarm clock so I was in bed when my Nanny came in to wake me.

DiNozzo's learn from their mistakes … usually.


	5. 5 - Halloween

**Halloween**

The next time I was introduced to the riding crop (well my butt was) was when I was seven. It was the last Halloween I ever went trick or treating. You see I had made a fantastic costume. I went as a spaceman. I had an old fish bowl, you know those round ones, which I discovered through an unrelated adventure, fit perfectly over my head. I had the fish bowl for my only childhood pets, my sea monkeys, which frankly sucked as a pet (I mean they are brine shrimp for Christ's sake, certainly not the underwater miniature chimpanzees I was expecting). The demise of these pets is another story that I may or may not get to.

Anyway, I grabbed some aluminium foil and some paint and covered the fish bowl leaving only a hole big enough for my face to show through. I also grabbed on of my dad's ski suits (and here is where the trouble begins) and proceed to cut of the arms and legs so it fit me perfectly. Combine that with my own ski boots and ski gloves, glue on a couple of expertly drawn NASA badges and bingo …. Best Halloween costume _ever!_

Sadly though, my parents decided not to take me to the trick or treat party held at the County Club as they had promised me for months, "We'll do it next week or sometime junior!" Hello! It only happens once a year Dad!

No way I was letting this killer costume go to waste though, so after my parents had left for whatever dinner party, cocktail party, business dinner, or whatever was more important than me party, I donned my _awesome_ costume and took off around the neighbourhood. I should mention at this point my parents were rich …. I mean stinking rich (wouldn't last though). Our neighbourhood consisted of properties that were on a minimum of 5 acres and driveways that went for hundreds of yards. Anyway, that was not going to stop me.

I hit 15 houses that night and literally walked for _miles_ and the haul was spectacular. You see when the lonely child of your prominent and influential neighbour turns up at the door, with no parental guardians, in tears bemoaning his tale of disappointment and abandonment and how very far you have walked (asking for a glass of water here sealed the deal), the guilt of the homeowners (or more often the house staff as most of the owners were at the damn County Club!) causes them to overcompensate with, in this case, candy …. Lots and lots of candy! Basically if they had food in the house that consisted of at least 20% sugar, it had Anthony D DiNozzo Jr's name on it.

I made out like a bandit!

So after finally deciding to call it a night (my pillowcase candy bag was getting _very_ heavy) I decided to head back to home. When I entered the house I was greeted by … once again, my mother's shocked and tear-stained face, my father's shocked and angry face, and the household staff's shocked and relieved faces. Thankfully there were no police this time!

So once again, mother went off to have a drink to calm her nerves while Dad "dealt" with me. What I found interesting (in hindsight of course) was the fact that my father was way more upset about me using his ski suit than he was about the fact that I had "runaway" and "disturbed the neighbours". Apparently the DiNozzo charm allows you to mend any bridges singed by a wayward child, but $3,000 spent on a now useless ski suit, now that could not be replaced!

My father threw away my record haul of sugary goodness and I received 15 hits with the crop that night. In a decision I would regret for several months, I forwent the Dettol bath, which turned out to be a big mistake. One of my cuts got infected and I couldn't sit down comfortably until Christmas. Oh and Margarite, my latest Nanny was fired.


	6. 6 - DiNozzo Family Christmas

**DiNozzo Family Christmas**

Ok, enough of the morose stories (trust me there are _many_ more on the way). This story is the one about the best Christmas I ever had.

It was the Christmas following the aforementioned Halloween and it was the only "DiNozzo Family Christmas" I actually attended. They had been held every 10 years since 1915. I didn't attend the 1985 one as my father had had a fight with his brother about the family fortune (I know shocking!) and decided not to attend. As I was stuck at Rhode Island at school with no transportation, or access to any money to buy a bus ticket, I was also unable to attend. The fact that my father said I could attend "over my dead body" did not stop me from wishing I was there. There was one in 1995 but as most of the grand parents had died, including my grandmother who along with my grandfather were the ones who really kept the family tradition going, it didn't have the draw to the younger generation it had had to the older ones so attendance was way down. They didn't bother with it anymore after that.

Anyway, back to 1975.

You see the "DiNozzo Family Christmas" was a big blow out for all the DiNozzo's who were descended from my great-grandparents who came though Ellis Island in 1892. Needless to say there were a lot of relatives there. Most had different surnames as my great-grandparents only had one son but had 5 daughters, and my grandfather had 2 sons and 3 daughters, then dad only had me, and my Uncle Vincent only had Petey and one daughter. The DiNozzo name was dying out! It's OK I do my part later by adding another six male DiNozzo's, 2 sons and 4 grandsons; and a daughter who refused to give her three kids the father's surname of Cliteron (really do you blame her?), and gave them the family name as well).

Anyway, there must have been 150 people there and kids! So many kids to play with! As I didn't have any siblings myself, the idea of having kids to play with outside of school was exhilarating. I don't think I stopped running all day long.

It was also the last time I saw my mother actually laugh and seem happy. She got on really well with my Uncle Vincent's wife, Sofia, so even though she was still drinking, it was happy giggly drinking, not sad teary drinking only done to forget the woes of the world and self medicate. She and my father danced, laughed, kissed and cuddled all weekend. I may not have been the apple of my father's eye but that was because he only had eyes for his Emily! She was truly the love of his life. A void he never managed to fill after she died.

Even I received hugs and cuddles from mom and proud hands on the shoulders from my dad that Christmas. He even bragged to the relatives how well I was doing at school (minus maths but we won't mention that). He even told the story of the dreaded Halloween space suit and received roars of laughter from the family and I received a fond look and a wink from him. No wonder being a kid is so confusing.

Three whole days of food, family, fun and frivolity! I felt like the weight of the world had been removed from my seven year-old shoulders. This is what it was like to have a normal family.

It was also the first time I kissed a girl (no tongue)! Sure she was a cousin but it still counts. I didn't even wipe it off my lips or anything.

It was also the first time I watched my favourite Christmas movie "_It's a Wonderful Life". _Apparently it was a DiNozzo family tradition to watch it on Christmas Eve when it was played on TV. Whilst it was not a tradition my father chose to partake in, it became a tradition for me that I tried to do every year for the rest of my life. Sadly my grandkids don't seem to understand my enjoyment of such an old film but choose instead to watch another Christmas classic (in their opinion) "_Elf"_ with Will Farrell. Oh well!

This was the happiest I think I had ever been in my life, and it would a _very_ long time before I ever felt this sort of joy again.


	7. 7 - Movies

**AN: Thank you all for your kind reviews and the many follows and favourites. It is greatly appreciated. I am currently 17 chapters in so there are still plenty of updates to come. Sorry this is only a small chapter the but the next couple are much longer and much more intense. Enjoy!**

**Movies!**

Movies! So anyone who knows me, knows how much I love movies. And where did that love of movies come from? From my parents, actually. I know I haven't painted a very rosy picture so far of my family life and there are more bad times than good, but that just makes the good all the more memorable!

So one of our regular outings (well semi regular depending on my mother's mood) was a trip to the movies. It was usually just my mother and myself, but when dad wasn't on one of his frequent business trips, he would join us too. It would always be a Saturday afternoon and we would go in to town to the local cinema but sometimes, usually when dad was with us we would head into Manhattan. We would drive in after lunch, see an afternoon session then walk around central park before heading off to have dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Those were the trips I loved the best. Mainly because it was all of us together, being (not just acting like) a normal loving family. We didn't do normal often, but the times we did were the memories I grasp tightly too. Those were the memories that allowed my father and I to maintain at least a tentative grasp on our relationship through all of our future ups and downs… and there were plenty of those. If I hadn't remembered the good times then I may very well have walked away from my father as a teen and never bothered to speak to him again. But those memories reminded me that there was a man in there somewhere who loved and cared about me.

I discovered a roll of film in an old box my father gave me when I was in my forties, and when I got it developed it had on it a photograph of my mother and I, on our very last movie outing to Manhattan. My father must have taken it because he wasn't in the shot but I remember he was with us. We saw _The Little Prince_ that day and Dad leaned over and whispered to me that this movie could have been written about me. It was the only photo I had seen of my mother since shortly after she died and all her belongings were removed from the house.

I still have the photo on my mantle.


	8. 8 - Mom

**AN: Again thank you for the reviews, favourites and follows. It really spurs me on. OK, here is a big chapter and it is super angsty so I am very interested to hear your opinions about it. Like it, don't like it ... what ever, please let me know what you think. Cheers Donna**

**Mom**

Ok, so now it is time to turn my attention to the event that impacted my life more than any other event, before or after. The moment I lost myself, and the world as I knew it. The ramifications of this would follow me through my entire life and affect every relationship I ever had, both romantic and non romantic. It was my mother's death.

Even now some 70 years later, I can't think of this and not tear up, start to shake and feel an overwhelming sense of dread. But this will be good for me, to get it out and talk about it. That is, after all, why I am writing all this down. I have only ever told three people about the events that transpired, and after telling them I said I never wanted to speak of it again, and I never did.

Let me start by saying that looking back, it was fairly obvious that my mother suffered from severe depression, and quite possibly even Bipolar Disorder. I am explaining this because I don't want you to dislike her. I spent many years hating her myself, and it wasn't until I was a cop that my eyes were opened to mental illness, and I finally manage to let the hate go. She never chose to seek out medical help and was never diagnosed by a doctor, instead of having to deal with the stigma of having a mental problem, she chose to suffer and self medicate with alcohol.

I asked my father years later if he realised what was happening and if he tried to talk her into seeing a doctor, but he said that in the 70's mental issues were not accepted by the community the way they are now, and the patient was institutionalised more often than not. He said he couldn't do that to her, have her locked away for God knows how long and have all manner of "experimental procedures" done to her.

You see her brother was institutionalised (or as it was called then "locked away in the nut house") after he was found on a golf course looking for mole people. When I tell people of this they often laugh out loud as if I am making some sort of joke, but I am not. It was a scary and sad event that affected my mother's family, especially my Nana Jo. Also rumour has it that her father's supposed "accidental" death may not have been so much "accidental", so mental issues definitely run in her family. It wasn't until I was in my forties that I finally stopped worrying if I would fall into the same spiral of depression and insanity that was floating around in my gene pool. I figured if I hadn't eaten a bullet from one of my guns, or stood naked on the roof convinced I could fly by then I was good (well not counting that one time at school but that was under a _completely_ different influence … but I will get to that).

So it was the day after my eighth birthday, and was in a foul mood. You see my parents had forgotten to buy me any presents. Now I know this sounds very petty and materialistic but I was only eight so I was allowed to be pissed off about not getting any presents. If I was 22 and didn't get any (and I didn't), then fine but I was just a kid! My father had an excuse, he was away in Canada on business and would be for another week. My mother had no such excuse.

At that age I didn't have any concept of why mum was the way she was, all I knew is that sometimes she was sad and locked herself away, and sometimes she was fine, fun and the love of my life.

I wasn't a worldly child but based on conversations had with my school friends, I started to realise most parents weren't like this and I was starting to cop a bit of flack from other kids about my mother, or "the pisshead" or "drunkard" as their parents had been apparently been calling her when they thought their kids were watching TV. It wasn't nice to walk across the playground and have everyone pointing and giggling at you while whispering those same things to others who hadn't heard the stories, and not always by the kids I might add.

Anyway, it was the day after my birthday and I was at Cub Scouts waiting to be collected by my mother. Up until the last month or so, she always collected me on time (usually with that scent of rose, mint and bourbon I was so used to) but then she started coming late, or eventually a staff member would arrive to take me home. However, for the last two weeks I had been completely forgotten. So for the second week in a row I had to be driven home by my Den Mother, Mrs Bellamy. I was beyond humiliated. And angry; really, really angry.

So after I was delivered to the door and Mrs Bellamy had a few terse words to say to our housekeeper Julia, who was unlucky enough to answer the door, I furiously stomped upstairs. I bypassed my night terror inducing bedroom and instead went straight into my mother's room where experience had taught me, she would be sitting up in her bed with a bottle of half finished bourbon or scotch or even gin, staring at her scrap book, or photo albums, or staring out into space.

I entered her room and there she was, sitting at her dresser (surprising in itself) but this angry little boy didn't have time to digest why she wasn't lolling around in bed as usual. I stomped up to her with angry tears streaming down my face and screamed at her, "You forgot to pick me up again and Mrs Bellamy had to drive me home and said I can't go to Scouts anymore because she wasn't my chauffer! You didn't buy me any presents yesterday and everyone at school is calling you a drunk! I wish I wasn't your kid, I hate you and _I wish you were dead!"_

… And here come those tears and shakes I was telling you about. I try to forget those hateful words but they play over and over in my head like some sort of scratched record. I don't think a day has gone past that I have not regretted saying those words and questioned if things would have turned out different if I hadn't said them… I guess I will never know.

So after that incredibly childish, hurtful and oh so regrettable outburst, I turned and ran from her room to seek refuge under her piano. It was, after all, the only place I felt safe. I was curled up and sobbing when I felt someone crawl in beside me and start stroking my arms and pulled me into a hug. "Shhh, Anthony, calm down, shhhh." No it wasn't my mother but my latest Nanny, Maria. She had only been with us a couple of weeks but I really liked her. She was always willing to give me a hug and a cuddle which none of my previous nannies had ever really done. They were more interested in pleasing my father than me.

After calming me down, Maria finally managed to get out of me what had happened and that I had yelled at my mother. I never admitted that I yelled out the last part but I told her the rest. She told me that she understood that I was angry and that I had every right to be, but that my mother was unwell and it wasn't her fault that she was so forgetful. She convinced me to go up and apologise to her. So hand in hand we walked up the stairs and at my mothers door she left me to go in and say sorry on my own. I wish she hadn't done that.

After knocking politely I opened my mother's door and entered her room. She wasn't there though. I figured she was in her adjoining bathroom so I walked through her bedroom and again I knocked and entered the next room.

The following image has been permanently etched into my mind and even to this day I will wake from the deepest of sleeps after revisiting that bathroom in my dreams.

In the bathtub I could see my mothers blonde head lolling to the side as if she is resting in a relaxing bubble bath. I step closer calling her name to wake her so I can tell her how sorry I am but as I draw closer I notice that the water isn't right. There are no relaxing bubbles, no scent of rose in the air. It's red, really, really red, and her wrists are bleeding ….

I must have screamed or something because Maria came in and hugging me close and covered my eyes she steered me out of the room. I don't remember the rest of the night, or the next few days to be perfectly honest; just scattered memories of flashing lights; hospitals and doctors; concerned friends and neighbours (the same friends who apparently called her a "pisshead" and "drunkard"); police and questions. It was decades later that I found out that the story presented to both the police and subsequently my father, was not what actually occurred. But that is another story to come.

So my mother was rushed to hospital, still alive but having lost a lot of blood. They gave her a transfusion but they couldn't understand why she still wasn't coming around. Later, too late as it turned out, they realised that she had also taken a handful of sleeping tablets, which she kept … that's right … in her dresser. I will never know if she took them before or after I confronted her.

The combination of pills, alcohol and blood loss caused her to fall into a coma that she never woke from. My father was contacted at his hotel and he caught the first plane out in the morning and was by my mother's side the next morning. I was shuffled between home and the hospital but three days after I yelled at her (yes that will always be how I consider it) my father decided to turn off the life support.

I remember it was early evening, after dinner and I was sitting in one of those horrible mustard yellow vinyl chairs watching "_Singing In The Rain_" when those annoying machines, which had been keeping up a steady beat for three days, suddenly stopped their rhythmic beeping and let out the loud continuous screech which tells you the heart has stopped. I've never been able to watch musicals since that day.

It is the only time I have ever seen my father cry.

I didn't celebrate my birthday for a very, very long time.


	9. 9 - The Funeral

**AN: Here is the next instalment, again a very angst filled chapter but lets face it, that's how we love Tony :-) Again, thank you for the follows and reviews and look forward to hearing your thoughts on the latest chapter. This is turning out to be a very long story so I hope you don't all get too bored with it. Cheers Donna**

**9 -** **The Funeral**

The day of the funeral was sunny and warm. I remember because nearly everyone commented, "at least it's a lovely day," as if having the sun shining would some how make it less sad and painful.

I was woken by Maria and had my breakfast, I think I ate it but who the hell knows, and then went up to my room where a new black suit and black tie were laid out on the bed for me. After having a bath Maria dressed me up, tied my tie and made sure my shoes shone and my hair was combed and styled. She then took me to my father's study where he was waiting for me.

He was dressed identically with the exception of a white rose in his lapel. He picked up a second rose and came over and knelt in front of me. He placed the rose through my buttonhole and pinned it to the back of the lapel. While he was still kneeling in front of me he took the time to tell me that there would be lots of important people attending today. Not just the DiNozzo and Paddington family members, but business associates and people of financial and political influence. He reminded me to make sure I was quiet unless spoken to (which considering I hadn't spoken a word since _that _day, should not be a problem), shake hands when offered to me, under no circumstances was I to cry because … everyone together _"DiNozzo's don't cry."_

Then he told me the following, "Look Anthony, I know this is going to be hard, but let's just get through this day and then we never need speak about any of it again." And it would be forty years before we ever did.

After descending the stairs we passed by the household staff who had formed what was almost a sort of guard of honour. Then passed out the front door, down the stairs and into to the waiting limousine which would take us to the church for the service.

This would be the last time I would see most of my extended family. I would occasionally catch up with my uncle and grandparents on my fathers side over the years, but the Paddington's would pretty much remain out of my life except for a couple of visits in the distant future. I would never again have all of them together as a family unit.

We sat in the front pew, staring at the mahogany box, listening to the priest say his words, eulogies spoken by family and friends. However, the person these people were describing, and telling both sad and funny stories about, was a woman I did not recognise. They told of a woman that was always happy and full of life, who lived life to the fullest, loved and was loved by her husband, and the most absurd of them all… doted on and loved her child more than life itself. I mean, what the FUCK! Excuse my language but come on!

No one spoke about the woman who locked herself away for days on end, drinking and sobbing. No one spoke of the woman who would play minor compositions on the piano in a way that just made you want to break down and cry. No one spoke of the woman who would crawl into my bed at all hours of the night, drunk and hold me and cry saying "why, why, why?" for no apparent reason and then barely acknowledge my existence for days afterwards. If I was so damned loved then why did she _choose_ to leave me here alone!? There was only one explanation… _I was not enough!_

_I was not enough._

That was a mindset that would haunt me for the rest of my life; make me second guess every decision I made; make me question every outcome with a "what if I…?" Didn't matter how many times I was congratulated on a job well done or told I did all that I could, I still believed in my heart that _I was not enough._

When a teacher told me I could do better, they were right because…

_I was not enough._

When my coach and doctor broke the news that the injury was too severe and I could never go pro I knew it was because …

_I was not enough._

When Gibbs kept pushing me to be better, be quicker, be smarter it was because…

_I was not enough_

When a Kate, Paula and Jenny died on my watch they died because…

_I was not enough._

When Wendy, Jeanne and finally Ziva said they loved me but left me anyway ….

_I was not enough._

When I couldn't stop my wife from dying of cancer ….

_I was just not enough!_

For the rest of my life, anytime a major event threw me for a spin and caused me repeat that horrible mantra over and over to myself, I would reinvent myself. Create a newer, better version of Anthony D DiNozzo Jr, and maybe this time, this Tony would be enough for whoever needed me to be there.

I became so many different people, changed myself to suit the situation so many times that eventually I would look back and not know which one of me the real one was. I dreamt one night of the scene from Spartacus where Charlton Heston stands and says "I am Spartacus", but then Tony Curtis stands up and says, "no I am Spartacus," and then eventually they all stand up and say "no I am Spartacus," just so they never know who the real one is … only in my dream they are all me and one by one a different Tony will stand and say, "No I am Tony DiNozzo," until the real one is lost in a sea of pretend Tonys … Wow that was deep and a very disturbing look into my fucked up psyche!

The rest of the service went by in a blur until it was time to stand and follow my mother's coffin down the isle and out the door. My father was a pall-bearer so I walked with my Nana Jo who draped her arm over my shoulder and pulled me into a hug as we walked but I could feel all the eyes of the congregation on me as I passed. Looks of pity for the child she left behind, the child who no longer had a mother, the child who was _not enough._

I stood outside for what seemed an eternity, shaking hands and smiling politely, receiving kisses on the cheek but not once did I say a word, nor shed a tear. Was that DiNozzo enough for you dad?

Finally the hearse pulled away from the church and the limousine pulled up and my father, Nana Jo and I hopped in. However, my relief at finally leaving the church only turned to disappointment when I found out we were on our way to the graveside for another service, this time for family and close friends only. I felt like this day would never end. After my father told me I caught Nana Jo's eye and she smiled at me in a way that showed she understood my disappointment. It was almost enough to make me burst into tears. Almost!

The graveside service was even worse than the church service (but at least it was a lovely day!). Whilst only the priest spoke, and it only lasted a short time, the finality of seeing my mother's casket lowered into the ground was just too much. Knowing what was about to happen, and knowing I would never receive the comfort I need from my father I got up from my chair and ran, and ran, and ran and didn't stop running until I was so far away no one could possibly see or hear me as I burst into tears and heart wrenching sobs shook my body. Tears I hadn't shed during the funeral, hadn't shed when that damn machine stopped beeping, hadn't shed when I found her in that blood red bath, hadn't shed since screaming those horrible words that set this whole nightmare in motion.

I don't know how long I was there for, but what seemed like hours later, I was found curled up behind a huge headstone of some long dead person called William. My Uncle Clive, my mother's brother, was the one who finally found me and called out "I've found him," (in that upper class English accent I missed so much) to no one in particular but to everyone at once. Seems I ran very fast and was quickly out of sight of the couple of cousins who took off after me once the shock of seeing me run away wore off. Therefore a manhunt (or boy hunt) had been mounted to look for me. I wonder how many hits of the riding crop this little stunt was going to get me? I knew I would have to face my father but knew that no punishment would be met out until we were alone, and as we still had the wake back at our house to endure, I knew it would be a while before I found out.

The wake was a further torture I had to endure. All I wanted to do was go and hide in my room. Yes it was so bad I wanted to go into my vampire infested room of doom just to escape this day. However, I wasn't allowed to leave and it was my "obligation" to stay according to my father, so I found a single chair, as close to a dark corner as I could and sat there alone, acknowledging people only when I couldn't pretend I didn't know they were talking to me, answered their questions with either a nod or shake of my head, or a shrug of my shoulders. And still, not one word had passed my lips since… _then_.

Apparently my silence had not gone unnoticed by my grandmothers, both Nana Jo, and Nona May bought their concerns to my father's attention but he dismissed their fears with a wave of his hand and a "He'll be fine in a few days." But it would be nearly a month before I spoke again. I would be coxed and bribed, threatened and frighted to speak, "Anthony you must say something." Finally I spoke and my first words were, "I want to be called Tony now." For the next six months, I would refuse to acknowledge anyone who called me Anthony, and only speak to those who called me Tony. Anthony was to be reserved for my mother. However, this came with it's own set of frustrations as my father would forevermore introduce himself to my friends as "the _real_ Tony DiNozzo." God I hated when he did that … That one little word was enough to make me feel less of a man, make me feel inferior or like an imposter to the DiNozzo name. Like _I was not enough. _I half expected instructions in his will to have it inscribed on his tombstone!

After the last of the mourners left us, my father retired to his study and a short time later I trudged up the stairs and went to join him, ready to face what ever punishment he was going to dole out for my stunt at the graveyard. I knocked and waited for permission to enter. When I walked into his study my father was pouring a very large glass of McClelland 18 Scotch for himself. He turned tired eyes to me and said, "Anthony, what do you want. It's late, go on to bed, I don't have the energy to deal with you at the moment."

So I left his study, went into my room and stripped out of my now detested black suit and tie, grabbed my pillow, went to the bottom draw of my dresser and pulled out my beloved but no longer allowed Giffy, and went and crawled up at the bottom of my closet. My sanctuary.

The next morning I expected to be called to my father's office and receive my punishment for running away at the funeral, but the call never came. The day passed by and my father remained locked away in his office.

The next day was the same. My Nana Jo, Uncle Clive and Uncle Jeremy came and went into the office. I heard shouting and a loud crash and soon they came out again. Nana Jo came over to me and sat beside me and held me tight. In that beautiful English accent she told me that she and my uncles were returning to London and she didn't know when we would ever see each other again. It would seem my father was "reluctant" for me to visit them and they didn't feel it would be "appropriate" to return here now that "Emily had passed". Amazing how polite everything sounded in that accent. Truth was, I later discovered, they wanted to take me home to England as they thought with dad travelling so much for the family business, a steady home environment would be beneficial to me. Dad disagreed … adamantly!

Nana Jo gave me a final bone-crushing hug and said, "No matter what happens in the future Anthony, even if you don't hear from us for a long time, know that you are loved so very, very much." And with that, she and my uncles walked out of my home and out of my life for nine very long years.

They weren't the only visitors my father received that day. Papa Dante and Uncle Vincenzo also came around to discuss something behind closed doors. I never found out what was said but I do know family relations were strained for many years after that. Once again, relatives walked out of my home and out of my life for extended periods of time, but this time I didn't receive a hug or affirmation of love. That's a DiNozzo for you I suppose.

The next day I woke and came down for breakfast where I saw my father for the first time since the wake. He sat at the head of the table, and I sat to his left, across the table from my mother's usual seat, and we ate our breakfast in silence. He told me he would be leaving for California that afternoon for business and wouldn't be back until Friday evening, a full five days away. I acknowledged this with nothing more than a nod of my head. I was to be looked after by my Nanny and other staff and I was to do what I was told and not "run away or any other damn foolishness." Again I nodded my ascent and continued eating my breakfast. After breakfast he once again retreated to his office, and I retreated to the lounge room to watch our colour TV. He left later that afternoon but he never said goodbye to me.

And that was more or less how my father and I coexisted for the next three years.


	10. 10 - Hawaii

**10 - Hawaii**

The next couple of years passed by with tedious monotony.

Every morning I would go down to the kitchen and have breakfast with Maria and our cook, Juanita (the highlight of my day), and they would teach me Spanish and the kitchen soon became our "Spanish only" zone.

When my father was home I would go to his office after school and poor him a drink (Macallan 18, three fingers, one ice cube) and report to him how my studies were going while he drank his drink, which could have been his first or twentieth drink for the day. I would stand to attention and advise him on my latest test scores, or how I was going on my assignments. Now I was a good student, intelligent (although many of my later Tony DiNozzo incarnations would hide this from all he met), studious, and hard working. I received straight As for all of my subjects except one… the only one my father was interested in… Maths! Now I am not saying I was bad at maths, I wasn't failing, in fact I averaged a B throughout my entire schooling, but this was equivalent to an F in my father's eyes. "You will never be accepted by Harvard Business School if you don't get your maths score up Junior!"

You see, I was going to Harvard. It wasn't something we ever discussed, and it wasn't something I ever questioned. As a child you just assume that your parents make all the decisions and that is just the way it was. I was going to go to Harvard to study Business and the sun will rise in the east again tomorrow. It was just the way it was.

So once again, _I was not enough_, and getting straight As in subjects like English (A+ in drama), science, history, music and sport didn't mean much because I was going to Harvard Business and I needed an A in maths.

After giving my (always disappointing) report to my father I would leave his office and retreat to my room (I had moved from my vampire lair to another room shortly after the funeral), and would proceed to study until I was called to dinner. We would then eat our meal together, my father filling the silence with snippets of his day and how the business was faring, "You will need to know this Junior if you are going to run the company one day," and advise if he would be going away for work. I would occasionally attempt conversation by discussing something I saw or heard from school, for which I would receive an absent minded "uh ha," or ask if we could see a movie or go to the city, for which I would receive a "don't have time this week, maybe when I get back from …"

After dinner and our riveting conversation he would retreat to his study and his bottles of alcoholic comfort, or go out to meet with a "business associate" and I would go in and watch TV, or go back to my room to complete my homework or any assignments that may be due.

Now a couple of times a year my father would take me on a holiday! Sounds exciting yes! It sounds less exciting when you realise that my "holiday" is a business trip he is forced to take me on because the staff have to be given annual leave at some stage. We would go to such exotic locations as Houston, Texas; Pasadena, California; Denver, Colorado (in summer so no skiing); etc.

So one night as I was heading up to bed I heard Julia remind my father that the staff was taking one of their annual leave breaks the following week and he had yet to make arrangements for my care. Of course my father had completely forgotten about the leave week and it was decided that I would just have to accompany him on his trip to … Hawaii (YES!). Finally, a holiday that I just might manage to actually enjoy.

So with an excitement I had never previously experienced on one of our "holidays" we set off for Maui, Hawaii. The flight was the best I have ever had, not because we flew first class (we always did that) but because they showed two movies I had never seen. First was '_Smokey & The Bandit'_ with Bert Reynolds and Sally field with fast cars and (heavily edited) fast women. But the second! The second had me almost in tears when they started it; '_The Spy Who Loved Me' _with Roger Moore as the super spy and my personal hero Bond, James Bond (not as good as Connery but I would take it). Already this was turning out to be the BEST TRIP EVER!

It was late evening (our time) by the time we arrived at our resort hotel so we ordered some dinner from room service and we each retreated to our individual bedrooms in our suite and turned in for the night.

I knew my father had a three day conference to attend before he would be able to spend any "quality time" with me as promised so when I awoke to an empty suite the next morning I was not surprised. I ordered breakfast from the room service menu and then I was off exploring. The Hotel was right on the beach and offered surfing lessons, snorkelling and scuba diving, windsurfing. There were also 3 different swimming pools on the grounds, a games room with board games, pinball machines and some fancy electronic game call '_Space Invaders',_ but the queue for that was too long to waste time on. Away from the resort there was a movie theatre down the road, a record shop around the corner and a Pizza Hut across the road. I managed to befriend a few kids around my age and we pretty much hung out from dawn to dusk after which I would retreat back to my room with a pizza and watch one of the pay-per-view movies streamed into my room by the hotel. Did I mention this was the BEST HOLIDAY EVER!

So three days had passed and I hadn't set eyes on my father but I knew he would be busy with the breakfasts and dinners at the conference so I wasn't really missing him. I wasn't ever allowed in his room but I had heard him stumbling in last night and again in the bathroom this morning so I knew he was around. Assuming my father was having a well-earned sleep-in following his busy schedule, I decided to let him sleep and quietly slipped out of the room. Down stairs I met up with my new friends and decided I would return to the room for lunch and we could plan some activities we could do together.

After a quick dip in the pool and a couple of games of pinball I returned to our suite but my father must have already left so I went down to the hotel restaurant to see if I could catch him. Sadly he wasn't there so I continued on with entertaining myself and made sure I was back in my room to at least have dinner with him. However, once again he wasn't to be seen so when the time reached seven and there was still no old man I ordered room service (I was kind of getting over pizza) and settled in to watch _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_ on the TV.

Again the next day and the day after my father was a ghost. I must admit by this time I was starting to get a bit pissed off. I mean I was having a blast (best holiday EVER and all) but he had _promised_ some time together on our holiday and I had really been looking forward to spending some fun times together like we used to. So when I awoke on the forth day after the conference, our last before flying out the following morning, and there was once again no sign of my father I started to get worried. I decided it was time to break a rule and decided to go into my father's room. My hand was shaking when I reached out for the door handle, visions of my mother flashing before my eyes, and as I slowly pushed the door open I saw … nothing. The bed was made as it is every morning, the bathroom was clean and everything was neat and tidy.

That's when it hit me … everything was neat and tidy. Where was his paperwork that he usually had on his bedside table? Where was his brief case? Where were his toiletries? I ran over to his wardrobes and threw the doors open. Where were his fucking clothes? He was gone!

It's hard to explain how I felt at that moment it was a combination of fear and fury; loss and sadness; longing and abandonment; disbelief and defeat. Was something wrong that caused him to leave me? Was he protecting me from some nefarious plot to hurt me? Was _he_ hurt, or in hospital?

Or worse, was I abandoned? Had he decided it was just too hard? Did he not love me anymore? Was _I just not enough_?

Or the worst option of all; was I just forgotten?

If he was protecting me then that meant he cared for me more than I would have thought. Or even if I was abandoned on purpose then that indicated that I was at least a conscious thought that crossed his mind. But if I was forgotten… then I just didn't even register. I didn't matter.

I was roused from these morose thoughts bounding through my head, still standing in front of the clean closet, by a knock at the door.

When I dragged myself to the door, tears threatening but being held at bay by the overwhelming fury I was feeling towards my father (if he could call himself that), I was greeted by the shocked, and relieved face of the hotel manager.

"Are you Anthony DiNozzo Jr?" he asked.

I responded with a curt, "My name is Tony," said through gritted teeth.

"Thank God, your father just phoned us frantically asking us to check on you."

"And where is my father?" I asked still through gritted teeth, dreading the answer but still holding out hope he was in hospital on his deathbed.

"Um, ah, well," he stumbled, "we called him this morning when we noticed that room service and movies were still being charged even though he had checked out early."

"_Where is he!" _I yelled.

"We called him at his home."

And there it was, the answer to my question. I wasn't abandoned.

I was forgotten.


	11. 11 - The First Step Mother

**AN: Again thank you all for the kind reviews. I am batting 100 on this story. So glad to see you are all so positive on how the story is unfolding. This is looking like it is going to be a long one so please keep the reviews and suggestions coming as it really spurs me. **

**I have realised that I didn't post a disclaimer so for this and all the previous chapters and all of those yet to come: I do not own NCIS or any of the characters portray therein. This is just my take on Mr Michael Weatherly's character ... As always enjoy!**

**11 - The First Step Mother**

To say my relationship with my father became "difficult" after Hawaii would be a momentous understatement. After being packed up and shipped out by the hotel manager, I was handed off to a blonde Air Hawaii stewardess who would escort me on the ten and a half hour flight back to New York.

During this entire time my emotions were on a rollercoaster of fear (I was still only a ten year old boy, left alone with strangers), hurt, confusion and anger. Anger was most definitely the dominant feeling, and it would continue for many, many, _many_ years to come.

Surprisingly, my father actually met me at the gate of the airport. I had fully expected one of the staff or his secretary to be my greeter, but he showed up personally. I think this just proves that he knew he had fucked up big time and I was not about to let him forget it anytime soon.

"How was the flight Junior? Looks like you got the best looking hostess on the plane hey." He smiled and winked at my escort as I remained stubbornly silent.

Not a word left my mouth as we made out way down to the luggage carousel and collected my belongings. I remained silent on the car ride home whilst my father prattled on trying to make small talk, my teeth clenching so tightly that my jaw was aching by the time our 40 minute car ride was over.

It wasn't until we entered the house that I finally broke my silence in response to my father's comment, "Christ Junior, how long are you going to keep up this silent treatment?"

My only response was a quiet and menacing, "You. Forgot. Me!"

The look on my father's face was almost worth the pain I had been through (almost). Unable to meet my eye he started to stumble out some lame arsed excuse but I just turned my back and started up the stairs. The last words I heard as I turned at the top of the stairs was a quiet, "I'm sorry, son." Not sure it counts as an apology as I don't think he meant for me to hear it.

This was a major turning point in my relationship with my father. Gone was the child who would do as he was told and never question the authority of my father. Instead the seed had been sewn for the growth of what would become a fully-fledged teenaged juvenile delinquent. Here was my first conscious decision to create a new Tony DiNozzo. One who would question every decision my father made, fight tooth and nail with him just so he knew he couldn't tell me what to do and just basically make his life a living hell. No way he could forget _this_ version of me!

Gone were the daily reports on my school progress. Any enquiry he made about my schooling would be met with a, "Why do you care." thrown over my shoulder as I walked away. Skipping school became a regular occurrence and when the truancy officer (yes we had those in the 70's) finally showed at our door to ask my father to explain my too regular absences, I responded to my father's furious rant of a lecture with a shouted, "Go to hell!"

I had set out to make my father's life a living hell, and like anything I set my mind too, I did a _damn_ good job!

However, this was soon about to kick me in the ass.

Over the next year or so my father had started taking a liking to Rum & Coke rather than his usual beloved scotch. I had also noticed an increase in angry outbursts and more physical encounters than previously. It would appear that my father was one of those people who had a negative effect from this particular alcoholic beverage.

So one evening I had been informed that I _would_ be joining my father and a guest for dinner and I _would_ put keep my attitude in check and I _would_ be on my best behaviour.

When I arrived at the dinner table my father was already seated and next to him, in my mother's seat, sat a brunette woman I had never seen before. Upon seeing me, my father stood and walked over and wrapped an arm around my shoulders steering me towards this woman. Whispering quietly so only I could hear him, he said, "You better behave yourself tonight Junior or there will be hell to pay." The smell of Rum was easily detected on his breath.

When we arrived at our destination in front of her, my father said in his proudest (and fakest) voice, "And this Vivian is my son, Tony Junior."

"Oh my, you are going to grow and be just as handsome as your father, aren't you, " she exclaimed as she extended her hand towards me in such a way that she was obviously expecting me to kiss the back of it. I merely looked at it and went over to my seat and sat down. I could see that this breech of etiquette (gentlemen never take a seat until the ladies have been seated) caused a blush of embarrassment to pass over my father's face, and a quiet "humph," and a quirk of an eyebrow from Vivian, signalling her distaste.

I didn't care (well I did because that was exactly the reaction I was hoping for). My father pulled out Vivian's chair and scowled at me over her head and then proceeded to mix another Rum and Coke for each of them (so that is why he changed).

Dinner consisted of three delightful courses and polite conversation… by my father and Vivian, as all I contributed were a few grunts and snorts whilst I lolled as insolently in my chair as possible. But after the final course was cleared and I was just about to make my long awaited escape, my father halted my dash for freedom by saying that there was something he wanted to tell me.

Downing what must have been his fifth new favourite mixed drink (that I had witnessed) he went to stand beside Vivian and placed his arm around her shoulder, "Junior, Vivian and are getting married next month. Isn't that great news!"

It was at this point that the world stopped spinning. I was flabbergasted. Was he serious? I must have stood there in stunned silence and slack-jawed for a while because my father finally said, "Don't just stand there catching flies Junior, come over and give your new mother a kiss."

Well that was exactly the _wrong _thing to say and my evening was about to go from bad to worse.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" I exclaimed.

Vivian's face paled as she audibly gasped at my foul mouth and my father's eyes widened in shock as he shouted "Junior, apologise to Vivian this minute!"

"No I won't. How can you do this to mom? How can you replace her with this … bitch!"

My father stepped forward and I flinched away as I was sure he was going to strike me, but he gained control of himself and instead said in the most menacing voice I have ever heard from him, "Get up to my office wait for me … NOW!" Yeah I may have pushed a little too hard this time.

I waited upstairs as instructed still too stunned to think straight and too scared to disobey. About a half an hour later I heard muted voices downstairs as I presume my father walked Vivian to her car. The only words I could make out were her loud exclaims of "deal with that boy" and "wedding will be cancelled" and then a car pulling away.

Then I heard his unmistakable footfalls as they ascended the main stairwell. My heartbeat quickened until it felt like it was going to explode from my chest. Then the study door burst open and my father strode over to stand directly over me, his face a demonic mask of fury. This time he did raise his hand and didn't stop himself as his open hand connected with my left cheek causing my head to snap painfully to the side.

"How _dare you_ embarrass me like that! Do you have any idea who that was? Vivian Brighton is one of the richest women in New York and she wants to marry me. You may have just ruined everything I have been working on for a year!"

He strode over to the wall and reached up to that hated riding crop but as he turned back towards me I ran. Out the door and around the corner but I tripped on the hall runner so my father managed to catch me at the top of the stairway. Now to this day I am not sure what happened next, did I lose my balance, did I trip, did I escape from his grip, was I pushed? I will never know but all I know is that one second my father has a hold of my upper arm and the next I was falling head over heals down the stairs, the very hard, very _marble_ staircase.

I awoke in hospital the next day with two cracked ribs, broken arm and a fractured skull.

Two weeks later I was enrolled in Long Island Boys College, a prestigious boarding school. Two weeks after that my father married Vivian Brighton and I had my very first stepmother.

My father chose not to have me attend the wedding. He never drank rum again either.


	12. 12 - Long Island Boys College

**AN: Tony the juvenile delinquent makes a return in this chapter. In relation to Senior, I have tried to show how hard he was on Tony based on the snippets given during the show, but I am also trying to get them to where they are now as portrayed by Robert Wagner. I know I have shown Senior so far as a bit of prick but I am trying to redeem him in later chapters, once Tony is an adult. Again, please let me know what you think of the story so far.**

**12 -** **Long Island Boys College**

Now sending a troubled child to boarding school sounds like a wise choice on the surface but the reality is… it's not.

If anyone who knew me as an adult, met someone who attended Long Island Boys College with me, they would not believe they were talking about the same person. I must admit I am ashamed of my actions for the not quite four years I attended and rarely spoke to anyone about my time there, especially about the reason of my eventual expulsion.

You see sending an angry, disobedient, rich kid off to spend 24 hours a day with a heap of other angry, disobedient, rich kids is just a recipe for trouble. Sure not all of them were like me, most were like the _old_ Tony DiNozzo, well behaved, studious, a pleasure to be around. But as is want to happen in this sort of environment, the bad seeds tend to congregate together.

For the first year I was sent to the principals office six times, received the cane four times and was suspended from class for two days for fighting.

The problem with rich kids is we have access to money, lots of money, so being able to buy contraband was not an issue for us. One evening three of us had decided to sneak out after dinner and catch a movie in town (a 4 mile walk each way but totally worth it). I believe it was James who suggested that the walk home would be way more interesting if we had something to drink so he walked into the closest liquor store and purchased a bottle of Jack Daniels. Now this was early 1981 so being able to walk into a liquor store and buy a bottle of booze for "my dad" was a completely acceptable thing to do. And you know what? James was right. The walk home was way more interesting … sure I don't remember too much about it, but I have an overwhelming need to giggle when I think about it.

Now stealth is always important when sneaking into or out of a dormitory. However, three _very_ drunk 16, 13 and 12 year olds are _not_ stealthy. Oh we thought we were. In our minds we were like ninjas flitting from one dark corner to the next, never making a sound barely stirring any dust. In reality, we were a stumbling, giggling, herd of buffalo knocking over all in our way. Needless to say, we got caught!

The next day, three very hung over 16, 13 and 12 year olds were marched into the principal's office and confronted by our worst fears. Our parents! Uh oh!

Not only did _we_ receive a lecture from the principal, so did our parents. We were all lectured about the "excellent standards of the school", and the "behaviour of our students" and lastly, and seemingly of least importance "the damage alcohol can do to developing minds". Now I have to admit I was pretty proud of the fact that even though I was the youngest of the three, I was the only one who didn't have to throw up in the principal's rubbish bin while the very lengthy lecture took place. That was, of course, because DiNozzo's don't throw up.

After the principal dismissed us, we had to wait outside until he finished up with our parents and advised them of our punishment.

Now James, the eldest, was unfortunately on his last strike so he was expelled from the school. David and I, whilst still considered "bad seeds" were not expelled but given our first and second strike respectively, and suspended for a week during which time we were both sent home with our parents. Oh joy! A week with Dad and my newest Mommy dearest!

The ride home was apparently the perfect opportunity for dad to lecture me, as I was a captive audience. He went on about how I was "a blight on the DiNozzo name," and, "you will be cut off from the DiNozzo money if this was how you were going to spend it," and it was about the time that he said, "and if you continue on this path Anthony, you are going to end up in the gutter. Mark my words" that I decided to drift off into hangover induced sleep.

It had been a while since I had been home, as Vivian was not a fan of me and didn't want me around what turned out to be my two young step sisters (thanks for mentioning_ them_ Dad), so it took me a while to realise that we seemed to be travelling for an extraordinarily long time (mainly because I was still trying desperately to get over the worst headache in the history of the earth). When I finally prised my gritty eyes open and shaded my eyes from the sun (that must have only been 100 yards in front as it was so damn bright), I noticed we were well past our turn off and heading into New York City. I asked my father were we were going.

"Oh did I forget to tell you? I finally managed to sell the house and we are living with Vivian now." Seriously, are you shitting me? How many times can this man blindside me?

Vivian's house, or I suppose our house now, was a three-story Manhattan townhouse on the Upper East Side. A far cry from our mansion on it's sprawling 8 acres of grounds. A man I assume to be Vivian's butler greeted us at the door welcoming my father home and taking his coat and hat. It would seem that our staff had been sold along with the house. Great, now I won't even have a friendly face around during my week of purgatory.

When I asked my father where all our things were, because there wasn't one item of furniture or knick-knacks in the house I recognised, he said, "Don't worry Junior, all your stuff is safely packed away in storage."

Vivian came in then and gave my father a hug and a kiss and whilst she didn't ignore me completely, she showed me no more interest then she would a mosquito buzzing around her head. She did inform me that the guest room was made up for me and I was more than welcome to unpack my things into the drawers.

So that was it! I no longer had my own room, didn't have any of my personal belongings like my books, or photographs; I no longer had a home! From here on in I would be nothing more than a guest in my own father's home.

I made my way up to my room, sorry, the _guest_ room, and unpacked the few items of clothing I had that weren't the school's uniform. I looked around at the décor and whilst the decorating was far superior than in my old room, it still left me with a sense of dread.

The next seven days dragged out and felt more like a month. I was banned from leaving the house and couldn't even step out onto the front landing without on of my "sisters" running off to my father or Vivian to tell on me. I was not allowed to watch any TV and anytime I so much as looked like I was bored, I had one of my textbooks thrust into my hands and told to complete the next chapter and hand in my working to my father for him to check.

My life was officially hell.

The only thing that kept me even slightly sane was the fact that I was allowed to play the baby grand piano Vivian had in the family room. I hadn't had any official lessons since my mother passed away but I still was called on by the music teachers when a piece was to be played as, without sounding like a brag, I was still better than anyone else in my class, and probably the school.

Every evening after dinner, and usually after breakfast too, I would sit at the piano, grab out a familiar piece of sheet music and start to play. It only took me a couple of days before I was once again tackling the more complicated pieces that I had been working on towards the end of my lessons, and as my confidence grew, so did my love for my mother's favourite instrument.

It was on my final morning at the house that we were all seated at the table enjoying breakfast when Vivian comment on my playing. "Tony, I couldn't help but notice how well you play the piano. Have you been taking lessons?"

I was surprised that Vivian had started a conversation because in the week I had been a guest at her house she had barely said more than five words to me. "Ah, I haven't had lesson's since I was a kid"

"Why did you stop?"

"After my mother died I didn't really want to play it anymore."

Vivian at least had the decency to look a bit embarrassed but whether that was because of the hurt her reminder caused me, or jealousy of my father's first wife I will never know. "Have you considered taking lessons again? It would be such a shame to see such talent go to waste. I think your father should arrange for lessons for you at your school." I actually was a little excited about the possibility of playing regularly again I must admit. She then addressed my father, "Don't you agree Tony?"

My father had thus far been engrossed in the business section of the New York Times and hadn't actually been following the conversation but when Vivian restated her request my father seemed hesitant. "Not sure I want to throw more money away on him if he is going to behave the way he has been."

"Well maybe if he didn't have so much free time on his hands then he wouldn't be the delinquent he has become." Jeez Vivian, I am right here!

My father's response of "humph" was apparently all Vivian required to believe she had won the case. That afternoon both Vivian and my father returned with me to my school and Vivian made sure that I was signed up for piano lessons three times a week with the schools head music teacher.

Just as they were leaving my father informed me that he had cut me off from my allowance and instead of sending me money every week to spend as I wanted, I would now need to contact him any time I required money and it was for school purposes only.

Between my extra time being taken up with the piano, and my lack of ready cash, my father believed he had put a stop to my unacceptable behaviour.

He was wrong. Whilst I didn't have access to spare cash, my other buddies did and were more than willing to throw some cash my way when necessary. Mostly I got smarter at not being caught and as I was taller than most of the other boys my age, it only took one of my more menacing glares as I stood over them to convince them to not tell any tales to the teachers.

However, I was still an angry young man who acted out in all the wrong ways and my time would come to an end spectacularly at Long Island Boys College… but that story is still to come.


	13. 13 - How I Lost My Virginity

**13 -** **The Obligatory "How I Lost My Virginity" Story**

So how could this be called a Memoir if I didn't include the obligatory "how I lost my virginity" story. I am not one to disappoint!

I had turned 15 over the summer break, spent it in not one but two summer camps leaving a total of 6 days at "home" with my father and his new wife Melanie.

Oh did I forget to mention that my father and Vivian divorced about six months after my week with them. Turns out my father had an affair with my "sister's" Nanny and was subsequently tossed from her home with his clothes and half of his worldly wealth. Nice going Dad! I later found out that my father almost went bankrupt at this time and all future marriages came with one of those new fangled pre-nuptial agreement that are so very popular today. Like I say, DiNozzo's learn from their mistakes.

So Melanie was stepmother number two and seemed like a nice enough lady. Treated me more kindly than Vivian but whether that was genuine or merely a way of doing what she assumed my father would want I do not know.

Apparently she was the soon to be ex-wife of one of my father's old business associates when they ran into each other, they had a few drinks, got to know each other, Dad found out her net worth and what do you know … married a week after the divorce was finalised.

Anyway, in the six days spent in the guest room of my new home, which was now a large estate again back out on Long Island, my father and Melanie threw a party for some of her friends and associates. Thankfully I no longer had any powder blue sailor suits, nor was I totted out to perform for the guests. In fact, I was mostly ignored by nearly everyone and managed to ghost around at will.

Now at 15 I was nearly six feet tall and had been playing quite a bit of sport at school so was becoming quite athletic in my build. My face was still straddling that man-child stage but the girls I had met whilst away from my all boy's school and camps, had all pretty much led me to believe I was above average in the looks department. One woman at the party in particular seemed to take an interest in me that bordered on the uncomfortable.

Melanie introduced me to her "very best friend" Mrs Bowen. Turns out they were Rockettes together "back in the day" whenever the hell that was. Estimating their age I would say that was at least 20 years ago – maybe 30.

After Melanie was called away by my father, I was left standing alone with Mrs Bowen. She was standing very close … too close. The smell of gin and tonic was coming off her in waves. She was also running her hand up and down my arm as she spoke to me and said things like, "you must play a lot of sport to have such muscular arms," or "I bet women of all ages just stare at you don't they," or even more alarming, "have you been with a woman yet?"

I mean, as much as I have flirted with women in my life, and maybe stepped over the line once or twice, it was never to a 15 year old. This was just … creepy. Finally someone I can only assume was her not-very-impressed husband came over and grabbing her under the arm steered her away from me. The look she threw over her shoulder at me made me feel like a bit of prey that got away. This was my chance to make my escape and I slipped away from the party and headed up to my room.

I had been in my room for about half an hour reading when my door opened and my new best friend Mrs Bowen slipped in. She tried to pretend she had come in by accident whilst looking for the bathroom but the fact that she remained, locked the door and started walking around led me to believe she may have, in fact, been lying.

I stood up to try and steer her out of my room and back to the party but as I drew closer she placed her hands on either side of my head and planted a searing kiss on my lips. Now I have kissed girls before, after all I have been sneaking out of school for nearly three years now and many of those involved catching up with the escapees of the Long Island Girls College, but I had never gone further than kissing (Ok maybe some over the clothes action but that is IT!). This soon exceeded my very limited experience. Her hands were everywhere rubbing and groping and undressing me.

Now even to this day I don't know how to categorise what happened; was it consensual, barely but I didn't say no; was it enjoyable, some of it; was it exciting, sure; was it scary, most definitely; was it rape? I know legally it was as I was a minor, but I still can't help but think that _maybe_ I may have enjoyed it too much to consider it as truly rape. Whilst I didn't verbally give my consent, physically I didn't really make any move to stop it, and I could have, easily. Like I say, I still don't really know what to think of the whole thing.

If I had my choice now, and even ten minutes after the fact I would have wished the whole thing had never happened. But it did.

After it was over, she climbed off me, dressed and left my room without so much as a look back.

I remained lying on my bed trying to get my head around what had just happened. Should I tell someone? _Could_ I tell anyone? After half an hour I finally got up, grabbed some clean clothes and headed for the bathroom where I had a long hot shower.

I tried to convince myself that the only water running down my cheeks was from the shower.

For the first time in years I spent that night asleep in my closet.


	14. 14 - My Expulsion from Long Island

**AN: Here is my take on why Tony was expelled from his boarding school. Some of you may think that he would never do something like this, but I think as a troubled teen with abandonment issues it is entirely possible that what I wrote could happen. I would love to know what you think so please let me know in the comments, even if it is good, bad or indifferent.**

**Once again I own nothing of NCIS.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

**14 -** **My Expulsion from Long Island**

My time at Long Island Boys College was about to come to a spectacular end. Now let me pre-empt this story by stating categorically that I am _not proud_ of what happened. I in _no way _condone my behaviour. In fact I am deeply ashamed by my actions.

So as previously stated I was _not_ the model student. I was still sneaking out most nights (sleep has never been a major time consumer in my life), still getting drunk on a semi regular basis; getting into fights (some I won, some I lost); and had even partaken in a few illegal activities including steeling one of our teacher's cars and taking it for a joy ride (I am pretty sure that is where my love of the Corvette kicked in).

Emotionally I had also been on a downward spiral for some time. Being able to hide my true emotions is a skill I learnt at a very early age so no one seemed aware of my decline. Maybe if I hadn't been such a master at deception someone may have been able to stop what happened.

My relationship with my father could only be described as strained at best. Holidays were spent at school more often then at home, wherever _that _happened to be at the time. All students had to leave during summer break so I was usually shipped off to several summer camps during that time. I resented the fact he spent no time with me, and he was so disappointed in my behaviour he didn't want to spend time with me. It was a vicious circle.

My grades had been on a steady decline, as being smart did not make you friends. The smart kid was never invited over for Christmas or Easter so, if playing dumb allowed me to have some friends to fill that gaping hole where my family should be then that is what I would do. This straight A (except maths) student quickly slipped to a solid C-. Bye-bye Harvard.

Also, I could not get what happened with Mrs Bowen off my mind. Every time I thought about it I was simultaneously aroused and disgusted at the same time. Was this how it would always feel afterwards? I both couldn't wait to do it again, but also never wanted to put someone else through that experience. This confusion just bounced around and around in my head until I thought I was going to go mad.

So when one of my friends inevitably introduced me to drugs, I was more than happy to partake as it allowed me to forget my woes while enjoying the highs they provided. It started with some marijuana and then he managed to get his hands on some of his mother's prescription pills, Oxycodone mainly (and wasn't I entertaining to my 'friends' when I was on those!). It was only very occasionally and I never took them in large quantities… until:

So Thanksgiving weekend was coming up and I was still waiting to find out if I was going home or not. When I finally got the call from my Dad saying that they had plans with the Bowen's for thanksgiving and that I would have to stay at school I was pissed. Royally pissed! (Although also somewhat relieved considering whom they would be with.)

Turns out my friend (and now drug dealer), was also being warehoused at school this Thanksgiving and he too was pissed.

So what better way to spend Thanksgiving weekend than with five other abandoned and disgruntled students, alcohol, marijuana, pills and a new little discovery called Cocaine …

Now I had only previously done Cocaine once before and lets just say, someone who has a hyper disposition like me, mixed with Cocaine, well I was described as being like the Tassie Devil out of the Warner Bros cartoons. I felt like Superman. Now throw in some Oxycodone and Jack Daniels on top of that and not only did I feel like Superman, I actually thought I _was_ Superman (have I mentioned that certain painkillers can make me loopy?). I knew what I was doing was not only stupid, but also very dangerous and I am fairly sure I wasn't _trying_ to kill myself, but I sure as hell knew I didn't _care_ if I did.

So in my drug induced haze I climbed out the window and up onto the pitched roof of our three story dormitory building (how I didn't drop to my death while doing this is beyond me). I was joined by some of my fellow buzzed cellmates who had not partaken in _quite_ as much as I had but were still pretty fucked up. When one of them said how easy it would be to jump from this building onto the next one (some five yards away) I took that as a personal challenge. Now still believing I was Superman, it was only natural that I strip out of my Clark Kent civvies to expose my super suit underneath (or in my case my super birthday suit). Taking one last super swig from the bottle of Jack I got into position for my super jump and just as I was about to start my super run, everything started to super spin and my vision became blurred and I blacked out. Super!

Apparently I was grabbed by my fellow roof dwellers just as my body started sliding off the edge of the roof. How we all didn't plummet to our death I will never know. In the room downstairs the two remaining students heard the screams and cries for help from the roof. After looking out the window and seeing the bottom half of my naked body (a sight that would no doubt haunt them for the rest of their lives) hanging precariously off the roof they took off looking for our supervisory teacher who happened to be our gym teacher. Between them all they managed to drag my unconscious from back into the room and an ambulance was called.

The next 24 hours were touch and go and I had to have my heart restarted twice that night (once in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and once again in the emergency department), and one pretty sever seizure.

I don't know what favours my father pulled in or who he blackmailed but the whole incident was buried so deep not even the best computer geek could find a trace of what happened (and I know you tried McGee).

The police chose not to lay charges and any paperwork filed by them and the ambulance magically "disappeared". My expulsion from Long Island was simply stated as "Conduct unbecoming a student" and my hospital records remained sealed and confidential (until an overachieving filing clerk scanned these into the national health database allowing my personal physician Mr Donald 'Ducky' Mallard access to a long buried shameful secret).

When I finally woke, my father was sitting beside my bed and I am pretty sure he was holding my hand but he must have let go when my eyes opened. It's hard to describe the look on his face, a cross between relief, anger, disappointment, hopelessness, sadness and regret? I prepared myself for the lecture about my stupidity, disgracing the DiNozzo name, wasting my life, the dangers of drugs but it never came. Instead all I got was, "I managed to get you into Rhode Island Military Academy. You will start as soon as you are well enough to leave the hospital."

And then he left.


	15. 15 - RIMA

**15 - RIMA**

A week after my overdose, I was finally released from hospital with a few conditions. One of those was that I must continue to attend psychological counselling which I would do at my new school under the guise of "additional tuition".

I was collected from the hospital by a Sargent Rayner who was six foot four, built like a tank and dressed in military fatigues. Without any niceties or preamble he immediately informed me in a very loud and commanding voice (and standing well within my personal space) that I was to call him "SIR AND ONLY SIR! IS THAT CLEAR CADET?"

"Yep, sure." Wrong answer.

"WHAT WAS THAT CADET?"

"Um… yes sir."

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU CADET!"

"YES SIR!" I yelled back. We were starting to draw quite a bit of attention considering we were in the foyer of the hospital.

"FALL IN." I didn't actually know what that meant but it apparently meant walk-behind-me-and-really-quickly-because-I-will-not-wait-for-you-to-keep-up-even-if-you-are-recovering-from-a-near-death-experience-and-carrying-all-your-worldly-possessions-forwarded-on-from-your-previous-school-of-residence.

The drive to Rhode Island took nearly six and a half hours (traffic was a bitch) and most of that was spent in silence as Sargent Rayner drove. He did however ask a few questions. He asked about what happened at school that landed me in hospital, but I was not ready to talk about that yet. He didn't push it either which I appreciated. He asked about what I liked to do and about my family, I answered politely but without too much elaboration on the family part.

And then he asked me something I have never been asked in my life to date, "So what is it you want to do in life Cadet?" I had no idea. I knew what my father wanted me to do so I answered with that.

"I didn't ask what your father wants you to do, I asked what _you _want to do."

Again I didn't have an answer, "I don't know sir."

"Well that's what we will work on first. Let's find out where the rest of your life will lead you shall we Tony."

I was dumbfounded. For the first time in my life someone actually wanted to help me, just me, not my father, but me, Anthony D DiNozzo Jr. No screw that – Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo! From here on in I would be my own man, no longer the Junior standing in the shadow of the Senior.

Rhode Island Military Academy was probably the best thing to ever happen to me. It literally saved my life and made me in to someone I was actually proud to be. Tony DiNozzo version 2.0 was born in that car ride.

As we drove into the Academy's grounds I saw that all the students dressed in the olive green fatigues. Some were playing football on the field, others were running in formation around the track chanting the cliché "I don't know but I've been told" chant. Who knew that was a real thing (I would soon discover that was indeed a real thing and would get very used to saying it myself)? It was well after school hours but there was activity everywhere I looked.

We climbed out of the car and entered the administration building where I was issued with my own set of fatigues, assigned to a barrack and given a map and timetable of my classes and extra curricular activities and a handbook on the rules and regulations of the Academy.

Sargent Rayner then went to the door and bellowed at a passing platoon (is that what they were called?), "CADET ADLER, FRONT AND CENTER!"

A teen about my age but a few inches shorter peeled away from the pack and stood in front of Sargent Rayner, saluted and yelled, "SIR, YES SIR!"

"At ease cadet." Adler stood at ease, which in my opinion still looked pretty uneasy. "This is new Cadet DiNozzo, he is assigned to your barrack. Take him there and get him settled. I want him dressed and ready by 1800 hours at the mess hall. Is that clear cadet?"

Adler snapped back to attention, saluted and responded with, "SIR, YES SIR!" then turned and started to jog away.

"Well don't just stand there DiNozzo, follow him!"

"Ok… I mean yes sir." I struggled to carry all my belongings but I managed to keep Adler in view and soon was standing in the doorway of my new home.

Adler pointed out two spare beds but suggested I avoid the closest one as someone called Barneby slept next to it and he had a tendency to sleep walk and might end up in bed with me. I took Adler's advice and took the bunk further down the room.

While I unpacked my meager possessions and sorted them neatly into my wall and footlocker and organised my desk just the way I liked it, Adler lazed around on the bed next to mine, which happened to be his.

"The name is Steve by the way," he said.

"I'm Tony."

He sat quietly and watched me until his curiosity got the better of him. "So what did you do?"

"Excuse me?" I instantly tensed up and could feel my fight or flight instinct kick in (OK my fight instinct).

"Hey relax, Tony. Only two types of kids come here, army/navy/air force brats, or troubled teens. You have come in mid term, look like you have _no idea_ what the hell is going on so that means you are here to '_straighten up' _and not a transfer from another Academy." I relaxed a bit, as he didn't seem to be trying to start something. "Besides," he continued, "they gave you to me, which means you are definitely trouble. I'm their reform poster boy."

I found myself liking Steve but I still wasn't ready to divulge my latest colossus of a transgression so I shrugged my shoulders and merely told him I didn't really want to talk about it.

"That's cool. When you are ready I'm happy to listen."

I did however, want to know why he was here, "So what did you do?"

He shrugged, "Just stupid shit, stole wallets and bags, broke into houses, vandalized stuff, that sort of thing. Ended up getting caught by the cops so the judge wanted me to go to juvie but my mother talked them into letting me come here."

"Why did you do it?"

"My dad left us about 2 years ago so I guess I was angry at that. And I was hanging around with the wrong crowd at school. Like I say, stupid!"

"What about your mom, does she hit you or something?" I asked.

"Oh god no, Mom's great. I gave her a hard time and she didn't deserve it."

We lapsed into a comfortable silence then, both lost in our own worlds of hurt and abandonment.

I only had about 15 minutes to take in my surroundings, which consisted of twenty beds, ten on each side of the room, each with a two foot wide locker, a small desk and chair beside them, and a deep foot locker at the end of the bed. These six feet by eight-foot piece of prime real estate would be mine for the next two and a half years. There were no personal items I could see, no photos, no mementos from home, nothing. I would fit right in.

Steve told me to get dressed and he showed me how the strip of red cloth was to go around my left bicep and explained that it was our barrack color. Turns out I was now officially a member of the Red Squad.

As we walked to the Mess hall, Steve told me about the Academy. There was 10 barracks in total all of them slept 20 cadets. Currently there were 194 cadets enrolled, ranging in age from 13-18. Grades were 8 – 12 and every cadet played a sport. It was not optional. I would need to sort that out tomorrow. We woke at 0500 hours and lights out at 2200 hours. Each barrack ate together, went to class together, and did kitchen, laundry, and janitorial duties together. We were free to choose our own sport and we individually had our own extra curricular activities, or tutoring with allocated time after dinner. Basically we were kept busy from the moment we woke until the time it was lights out. Some people would bemoan not having time to relax and unwind, but not me. I _thrived _in that environment. It was exactly what this hyperactive, intelligent, self-critical young man needed. Boredom was not my friend.

Sargent Rayner was apparently our Barrack commander and he was our first call for any issues or problems we might have. He was our confidante, our disciplinarian, and the unquestionable leader in all matters (explains why I managed to click with Gibbs so quickly doesn't it!).

As we entered the mess hall Steve guided me to our team table where 17 other curious faces turned to look at me, some nodded hello but most remained silent. We all stood behind our chairs and Steve leant over and told me to just follow his lead. As he was in the _at ease_ position I copied him, feet shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind our backs. There was general murmuring from the cadets until all of a sudden someone from the front of the room called us to attention and 193 cadets snapped to attention and the 194th (me) did so a few seconds later.

"RECITE THE PLEDGE!" was bellowed from the front of the room and 193 cadets started reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, and the 194th (yes me again) started a few seconds later. After that was finished there was another command of "SIT" was bellowed from the front of the room and 194 cadets (even I could follow that one) sat down at our table.

Finally I was able to see a bit more of what was going on. There were twelve tables set up in 3 rows of four, ten tables of cadets (one of which was vacant) and another two of what I assumed to be teachers and staff. In front of all of those was a long table where eight men and 4 women dressed in fatigues sat facing our tables. Ten of them were the Barrack Commanders who also taught classes and sports. The remaining two were the Commandant and Secretary of the Academy.

The Commandant remained standing and waited until all the hall was quiet before making a few announcements such as class information, staff illnesses or changes and finally, "And we have a new cadet joining Red Squad today, Tony DiNozzo from Long Island, please make sure you all help him settle in." With that every head in the room swung around to look at our table trying to see the new meat. I could feel my face starting to turn our team color but I managed to not embarrass myself.

After the Commandant sat, the meals started to be bought out by what I assumed to be the cadets from the vacant table.

Steve explained that each day a barrack was responsible for dinner and the more simple fare, like spaghetti and casseroles, were prepared by the younger cadets, and the standard of food went up as the boys got older. Everything we did at the school was aimed at teaching us life skills and cooking was one of them. Tonight was the youngest team so we were having Spaghetti Bolognaise and garlic bread, followed by fruit salad and ice cream. The Commandants table was served first, followed by the teacher's two tables, and then it went from the most senior class to the youngest. As we were right in the middle we received our meal about fifth last. The food was good and we were free to chat while we ate.

Of course being the new kid, most of the questions were directed to me, "what's your name," "where you from," "are you a brat or a T.T.?" (apparently a term used here for _troubled teen_. I was also asked if I knew which sport I was going to do, did I have any extra curricular activities picked out. All of these questions I answered politely without giving away too much information until I was surer of my fellow team mates. Steve explained that after dinner at 1900 we went off to our various ECs (extra curricular) or tutelage. I would meet with Sargent Rayner who would go through my timetable, help me sort out my ECs and sports and generally get me ready for my first real day tomorrow.

It was a funny feeling, but I had only been here a matter of an hour and a half and yet it felt … right. I wasn't nervous at all. I was excited to see what tomorrow would bring.

After the meal was finished and the team assigned to cleaning duty collected our dishes, each cadet pealed away and went off to wherever they had to be. I remained seated until Sargent Rayner came over and walked me back to my barrack.

Once we were back in my bunk Sargent Rayner started by letting me know the daily schedule. Up at 0500 and we started our run at 0515, at 0600 we returned and showered ready for breakfast at 0630. 0730 we returned to our bunk were we collected our books for class. Morning classes were done as a team and went from 0800 to 1200 including a half hour break, which consisted of English, Maths, American History and Science. Lunch was 1200 to 1300 and back to class from 1300 to 1500 for our Optional subjects of which I chose Music, Spanish, Social Studies and Physical Education. Two subjects each day alternating over a two-week period.

After the classwork, we had an hour for free study to allow us time to work on our assignments or discuss our work with others in our class. 1600 to 1800 was sport. I had done a bit of everything at my previous school but had a particular liking of basketball so Sgt Rayner signed me up for that. After sport was our evening meal, then EC until 2100 then we had an hour before lights out. My EC would consist of two sessions with the psychologist (or additional tuition as others would be told), two with an actual tutor to ensure I was up to date with my classes as schools curriculums vary from state to state, and the final evening would be private piano lessons.

The weekends were not much better. Unlike Long Island were most of the students would return home to their families and the ones that didn't would have two days to themselves, here we remained at the school and parents day was every third Sunday of the month. The only exemption to this was if one of the student's parents was on a weekend pass from their barrack and then a leave pass was allowed.

Saturday was our sports game day and we woke again at 0500 and the schedule was the same until 0800. The day was spent going to inter school matches and those that didn't play would attend and ensure as much support for our small Academy as we could. Sometimes we were home by lunch, other days we would not return until nearly lights out. When we weren't at the matches we were training for them.

Sunday we woke later at 0600 and we underwent Military drills (no gun work) and Leadership Training until 1200, then lunch, then we had study time until dinner and we had free time were we were free to do what we wanted within the grounds of the schools. Usually there was a movie being played in the media room so you can guess what I chose to do.

Like I said, we were busy from the moment we woke until we went to bed. And I loved every minute of it.


	16. 16 - Returning From The Dark Side

**16 - Returning from the Dark Side**

Now I don't want to make it sound like I started at RIMA and everything was hunky dory. I still had a lot of issues to deal with.

I attended two sessions with my psych every week for a year, then once a week for six months then just as needed. One of the things I had to deal with was a little issue that had developed not long after I started at Long Island Boys College. Now I just thought I was keeping my half of the dorm room clean… _very_ clean. I liked to make sure my bed was made just right, that everything on my desk was lined up in a certain order and everything had it's place, my closet was always neat with my clothes sorted into a certain order that only I understood. This however, is one of the things that caused me to get into fights. You see if someone came into my space and moved something without my permission, I used to see red and I would just _freak out_. Usually I would just yell at them to leave things alone and then put whatever was disturbed back into its place and then go through and check the rest of my things to make sure they weren't disturbed. But the boys there soon learnt that this was a red button issue for me, and some of them took a personal dislike to me (can't say I blamed them, I was a prick) and tried to cause trouble by purposefully luring me into a fight by messing with my stuff.

I was eventually diagnosed as having OCD. You see, because I felt like I had no control over my family life, this need for control manifested into a compulsive need to ensure my space at school was exactly how I wanted it. The more I was stressed about something I couldn't control, the more obsessed I was at having everything _jus_t right where I could control it. My psychologist at RMIA, Dr Shemberg, worked with me to try and control these compulsions. Whilst it was something that I would struggle with for my whole life, I learnt ways to control the OCD and overcome the compulsions with only a rare relapse.

Even as an adult I considered my home as my sanctuary and I very rarely let anyone in for fear of them messing it up. I kept it neat but mostly that was it, just a nice neat home. However, at times when I felt stressed the OCD would rear its head again and I would find myself itching to clean every surface, arrange all of my food so the labels were facing out and the cans, packets and bottles arranged by size, DVDs placed in alphabetical order by title (after opening every one to make sure the right movie was in the right cover), kitchen and bathroom scrubbed until they were spotless. Usually this major clean was enough but on _very_ rare occasions I would become so stressed that I could do this continuously for days. Start in the kitchen, move to the lounge, bedroom and finally bathroom (always in that order). Finish the bathroom and then start again in the kitchen. I would go to work but as soon as I walked in my door I would start again. I would do this until I literally collapsed from exhaustion. This collapse was usually enough for me to get my head together and reassert my controls and pull myself out of my OCD hell.

It never affected my work (except for the no sleep bit). Turns out I only felt the need to have control in my home life, whilst at work I was more than happy to hand control over to others and to allow chaos to reign in my workspace.

We also discussed my alcohol and drug abuse but thankfully I had not used anything long enough to actually become addicted so we mainly discussed the reasons behind _why_ I did it (and I think my previous entries so far sum those reasons up nicely). I was never one to abuse alcohol again after that. I came close a few times but I always managed to stop before it became a problem. And the drugs, never touched any illegal drugs again (actually I did once but that was while I was undercover so it doesn't count.. does it?), and any legal ones I was very careful to take them only when absolutely necessary much to the annoyance of my doctors, wives and bosses!

Lastly, we looked at my grades and how much they had slipped. We discussed how my desire to be accepted by other students was the driving force behind my resistance to learn, but working with Dr Shemberg allowed me to accept that being intelligent was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact it was something I became very proud of.

Now I know I played dumb a lot. I always tried to make myself out to be the least intelligent in any group but that wasn't out of some need to be accepted. If anything it was a way to be overlooked and excluded. People like to think they are smarter than someone else, and they will usually _always _talk too much to someone they perceive as less intelligent because a) they think you won't understand anyway, b) they dismiss you and forget you are there, or c) try to prove their superiority. It was by far my most effective technique at getting information from witnesses, suspects, workmates and directors of foreign agencies, when I went into law enforcement. Never underestimate a DiNozzo!

So with my head space getting sorted, I was able to concentrate on my classes and try and improve my grades. Between my new outlook and the additional tutelage (the real ones) I was able to bring my grades back up to the A average I always had (except maths … I would never be able to get an A in that!). Harvard was back on track. I was not so sure I wanted to go but at least the option was there for me.

My music teacher took a particular liking to me and she was also my piano teacher for the next couple of years (I also took up guitar as well). She thought I would be good enough to apply for Julliard but again, I wasn't sure if I wanted that either. However that again provided another option for me to consider when the time came.

Then there was sport! Basketball became my life. I loved it and I was good at it, _really_ good. Even though I had never really played seriously at Long Island (usually in detention or hung over) it only took two weeks from when I started RIMA to when I became a permanent fixture in the varsity team playing point guard. I was made captain in my senior year and my number 78 was retired when I left RIMA. I dreamt of turning pro but I knew that this would never be an option as my father would never allow it … but if I got a full scholarship? Keep dreaming DiNozzo!

RIMA also taught me what it was like to be on a team. Not only did I meet one of my oldest and most faithful friends in Steve Adler (we would go on to college together and both end up in Washington), but also each barrack was a strong unit, we looked out for each other, we helped each other and we never turned on each other. There was rivalry between barracks, we were often pitted against other barracks in drills, but my team became my strength and that was how I would view any team in the future. People wonder why I stayed on as Gibbs second in command at NCIS for so long but the reason was, they were my team. It took me a long time to find that again after RIMA and when I did, I held onto it for as long as I could.

In twelve (both simultaneously long and short) months I managed to turn my life around. I went from the delinquent to the protector, from the dumb ass to the dux, the loathed to the loved. Maybe the rest of my life wouldn't suck as much as I thought it would.


	17. 17 - England

**AN: Thank you all for the new follows and favourites. Thanks for the reviews they mean a lot to me. Here is my take on Tony's trip to England. Let me know your thoughts. Cheers Donna**

**17 -** **England**

My relationship with my father was also getting better during my time at RIMA. Whilst it still wasn't great, it no longer consisted of my anger and resentment at his parenting skills, and he no longer felt an overwhelming need to avoid and berate me. It was not a _great_ relationship by any stretch of the imagination (_good_ would have been overstating it too), but it was vastly improved from where we were before my overdose.

He even managed to come to some of the parent weekends, not all mind you, but some. I don't think he actually recognized me the first time he saw me. Gone was the floppy long hair I chose to wear at Long Island and instead I had very short back and sides with a little length on the top (I would never sport the buzz cut many of the other cadets preferred). I also carried myself better; I stood tall and strong and held my shoulders back, no longer feeling the need to slouch and make myself smaller in his presence (the look on my father's face was priceless when I walked up to him and I stood a good inch taller). Basically, I had learnt confidence, something I had never had the chance to learn at home.

I was no longer being sent off to camp during the summer break, choosing instead to spend most of my time at RIMA with most of the other cadets who's families were still deployed. As regular classes were limited to the school year, the Academy kept us busy with sports and basketball training, driving lessons once you turn 16, summer school and other 'life skill' programs arranged by the Academy.

I did manage to spend a week here or there with my at my father at his place. He was stilled married to Melanie, and Mrs Bowen was still her best friend (which made for a few awkward dinner parties), but other than over exuberant hugs and a few inappropriate thigh rubs when I couldn't avoid sitting next to her, I pretty much managed to avoid any further encounters with her. I think also she got the hint when she tried to get into my room one evening and found the bold I had installed holding fast.

I also decided to reach out to my mother's family who I had not seen or spoken to since the day after the funeral. I had received a few birthday cards when we were still in our family home, but after moving I assumed they had not been advised of our new address and all contact had ceased. I had taken those cards with me when I went to Long Island and then onto RIMA. I don't know what made me do it but I think I just needed to have _something_ to remind me that somewhere in the world someone was thinking about me.

Anyway, one night I decided to write a letter to my Nana Jo. I must have started the letter ten times before I finally just decided to write it, send it and see what happened. I was honest without going into too much detail. I told her where I was and that I had had to deal with _issues _which caused me to make some foolish choices but that I was better now and working towards a future for myself. I told her of the deterioration of my relationship with my father but that we were working on repairing that as well. That my father had remarried (twice) and that he and Melanie seemed happy (got that one wrong, they were separated six months later – turns out Mrs Bowen swung both ways!) and finally that I hoped that she and her family were well and that I missed them.

Two and a half weeks after posting the letter I was called to the student lounge where I was told I had a phone call. Assuming it was my father I didn't think much about it until I heard the unmistakable English accent I hadn't heard for years. My Nana Jo was in tears as she talked to me for about a half an hour before asking me if I would come to England to visit with her and my Uncles. I was excited about the possibility but knew that there was no way my father would go for it. Unless a trip could be written off as a tax deduction there was no chance. When I told Nana Jo she simply said, "Don't you worry about your father Anthony (she was still allowed to call me that), just give me his phone number and I will sort it out."

True to her word, three weeks after my 17th birthday I was sitting on a British Airway's flight to London. Turns out that once Nana Jo advised my father that he wouldn't have to pay a cent for the trip, all of his arguments fell apart.

So getting off the plane and making my way out of customs I scanned the waiting crowd fully expecting to see a driver with a 'DiNozzo' sign. However, there she was, my Nana Jo, standing on tiptoe trying to get her first glimpse of her grandson that she hadn't seen in 9 years. It wasn't until I was only a few feet away that she finally realized that this six foot 1 inch man with her daughter's eyes was that little boy she hugged goodbye so long ago. This was one of the few times I cried in front of someone … and I didn't give a damn. We both held on tight to one another and let the tears flow.

Finally separating after the world's longest hug, we stood back wiped away our tears and looked each other up and down. She didn't look that different except her hair had more grey than I remember and she had a few more wrinkles on her face. She however, was stunned at the transformation of this small, quiet, downtrodden little boy into the tall, talkative, confident man I had become. It wasn't until I heard a "Bugger me, look at you!" that I realized that my Uncle Jeremy was also there with his eldest son Crispin who was only a couple of years older than me (but a good three inches shorter). With a hug from my uncle and a barely disguised sneer from my cousin, we made our way to the car and on to my Uncle Clive's where I would be staying during my stay in England.

Uncle Clive had been the CEO of North Sea Oil and Petroleum which had really been making headways in the mid 70's even being rated on the Fortune Global 500 at number 476. However, the pressure seemed to have gotten to him and he had a complete breakdown culminating in the infamous 'mole people' saga mentioned earlier. After his demise, NSOP was sold to British Petroleum (aka BP) and as a major shareholder his payout was … significant!

He had been in and out of hospital over the years but now the medication was working and he had been living a mostly normal life but still shied away from large crowds and avoided loud noises (and golf courses). If you met him without knowing his past you would not guess he had any problems but for those who did the hints were there such as the nervous ticks and wringing of his hands but he had a wicked sense of humor and would tell me stories that still make me blush to this day.

I often wonder what would have happened if my mother had been given the same chance as my uncle. Would she have lived a normal life? Would she have told me hilarious stories? Would she still be alive?

My uncle's home was even bigger than our house on Long Island had been and at least 300 years older. If you have ever seen photos of large stately English homes (some call them palaces) sitting on acres and acres of rolling lush green hills … that was Uncle Clive's house. It was stunning and extremely English.

My Nana Jo had moved in with Clive after his breakdown and helped him out when he felt 'poorly'. He had been married but apparently she had left him when he went 'bat shit crazy' (his words). According to Nana Jo she "didn't have the necessary fortitude to deal with the situation" (don't you love how polite English people are). Uncle Jeremy and his wife, Laura, lived over in the next village with Crispin and their other two younger children, twins Sara and Samantha, who I also clicked instantly with. The Paddington's were a close-knit family unit. Something I was definitely not used to but would be eternally grateful for.

The next six weeks were by far the best summer I had ever had. My Nana, Uncles, cousins and I travelled around England doing touristy things, we had long walks and even longer talks. They told me stories about my mother growing up, and I told my family exactly what I had done to get expelled from school. There were no lectures or admonishments, just support for the fact that I had done everything I could to change myself for the better. Except Crispin, he said, "Sounds like you are just a spoilt prick who needs a swift kick up the arse," but he was mostly ignored, except by his mother who actually gave him a slap on the back of the head (I couldn't help but smirk because a grown man being hit on the back of the head was _beyond_ ridiculous!)

Uncle Clive took it upon himself to teach me how to pick up women, which he was surprisingly adept at. Seems that being able to laugh at the fact you were mad as a hatter was a real turn on for women (or the fact he bought hundred pound bottles of 'plonk' was). It was under this tutelage that I picked up a very nice English girl who also took it upon herself to teach me a few lessons as well. As it turns out sex wasn't scary and uncomfortable … it was _frigging amazing!_ Thank you Rebecca McKinnon for those three weeks. In my mind you will always be my first.

Sadly my time in England came to an end and it was time for me to return to the US and school. My Uncle Clive had found out that my father refused to give me any money other than as required for school, so he was kind enough to give me a few thousand pound (about $10K US) to allow me to buy myself a car (my beloved Corvette) and maybe take a few of ladies out on the town. I promised I would pay it back when I could, even writing him an IOU for the money (and wouldn't that come back to bite me in the bum when Crispin found it).

I remained in weekly contact with Nana Jo, and visited as often as I could until she passed away in 2002. My cousins and I also stayed in touch (except Crispin who apparently found out about me and Rebecca – his life long crush. Whoops!), and they kept me up to date with my Uncles and their families between visits.

Whilst they could never replace my mother's love, it was great to have this link to her and to feel that just maybe, she was still looking out for me through them.


	18. 18 - Senior Year - Wendy Pt 1

**AN: Just letting you know that I am going to be dropping down to updates every 2nd day. Sadly life is getting in the way and I don't have as much time to spend now that the school year has started again. I still have 27 chapters done and dusted so hopefully with updating every 2nd day I will have a bit of a buffer.**

**Cheers Donna**

**18 -** **Senior Year (or Wendy Part 1)**

When I returned from England I started my Senior Year at RIMA. This was the year that I had to work out what the _hell_ I was going to do with the rest of my life. I knew what I _wanted_ to do, but whether I could actually do it was another thing completely.

I wanted to play basketball. Now I knew it was a long shot but my coach, Mr Hammond, really thought I had a good chance at picking up at least a partial scholarship but I knew that if I wanted to do this it had to be a full ride. There was _no way_ my father would pay for any further education unless it was Harvard. Paying for school to "play silly games" was _never_ going to happen. I had to live, breath and dream basketball! All while keeping my grades up just in case I didn't get the necessary full scholarship needed. Time to knuckle down DiNozzo!

Now this would have been fine except for the fact that a great big beautiful distraction walked in the door in the form of a brunette assistant music teacher called Miss Wendy Miller … Oh boy! I have never believed in love at first sight, but _lust_ at first sight, that was real. I was smitten from the moment I saw those long legs and shiny long brown hair!

It was my first real crush and for six months she took over my every conscious thought, and quite often my unconscious if my dreams were anything to go by. And I've got to say, I am pretty sure the crushing was mutual. My friends were disbelieving that an older woman could possibly be interested in a kid, after all, she was 21 and I was only 17, but there were definitely some glances my way that made my toes curl and my pants… well you can guess how they felt.

However, I had a goal and nothing, not even a beautiful, delightful, sweet smelling, funny, intelligent, kind … where was I? Oh yeah, I had a goal and nothing was going to distract me from getting what I wanted. I managed to keep my daydreams off the court, and out of my other classes, relegating them to music class and bed where they belonged allowing me to concentrate on getting that full scholarship.

We were having a good season and we currently sat second on the ladder in our division and had only one game left to play before the playoffs. If we won this game we went to the top of the ladder and would go on to the State Championships. As the captain I had my team on the court warming up and going through some drills prior to the game. Everything was going great until I looked up at the stands where our fellow students were filing in, and then I saw her. Miss Miller was wearing a very tight, _very_ low cut pink sweater and sitting in the front row and had crossed those long, smooth, lovely, long gorgeous, long legs (did I mention I was a leg man?) in nothing but a tiny little pair of white shorts. This was _not_ good. We continued through our drills but my head was no longer in the game. I was distracted and I was making mistakes, looking at her when I should be watching the ball. I was screwed! Coach Hammond came up to me and wanted to know what the problem was. "DiNozzo, get your head out of your ass! We have college recruiters here tonight, and they are here to see _you!_ Stuff this up and you can say bye-bye to that scholarship." _Fuck!_

I didn't know what to do. It wasn't like I could walk up to her and say get out! Could I? _Should _I? But that is exactly what I did.

Walking over to the sideline I got her attention and waved her over. Oh yeah, based on the smile on her face she knew exactly what she was doing to me. "I'm sorry Miss Miller but I am going to have to ask you to leave," I couldn't believe how forcefully I sound when I said that. Inside I was quivering but outside I was steel.

"Excuse _me_!" The look on her face was that of disbelief, anger and fiery indignation. "Cadet DiNozzo, I don't know _who_ you think you are talking to but I am _not _going anywhere. I am here to support the team and as a _student_ you should be more respectful to your _teachers_." She crossed her arms and somehow managed to thrust her breasts out even further than I thought possible.

I closed my eyes to avert my gaze and pulled myself together, "I'm sorry, but I can't concentrate out there when all I am doing is staring at your… I mean, you, I'm staring at you! This is probably the most important game of my life and if I screw it up I will lose my chance at getting a scholarship. I'm sorry and I don't mean to be rude but … I _really _need you to go somewhere where I can't see you." By now my face was approximately the same color as her very tight sweater but I kept my eyes on her face and held strong.

This time it was her turn to blush! "Oh, right… um, OK, I guess I can wait outside then. Sorry," but I have a feeling she wasn't _that_ sorry at all.

She turned to leave and I allowed my gaze to linger over her really nice butt before I tried to get her out of my mind. By the time warm up was over and the game began I was back in the zone. The winning zone! We were going to the state playoffs!

My coach approached me after the game and informed me that three of the scouts had approached him about me and that they would be back to watch me in the playoffs. "Keep playing like you did tonight and that scholarship is yours!" Wow, could I actually have a shot at getting what I want? Could I actually have a chance at going pro? One step at a time DiNozzo!

I didn't see Wendy again that night, as the student and teacher busses left before the team bus did, as we had to shower after the game. I did however see her the next day during music and later that night during my piano lesson. She didn't usually stay during the private lessons, but Mrs Summer, the music teacher, had asked her to remain to watch how the private lesson was conducted and to "show off" her best student. I made more mistakes in that one lesson than I had during my entire two years of lessons so far. Mrs Summer assumed I was still excited about our big win the night before (bless her little innocent heart) but both Miss Miller and I were _well_ aware of the reason behind my fumbles.

After the lesson Mrs Summer left as I was still collecting my belongings, leaving Wendy and I alone together.

"You really do play beautifully Tony," she said.

"Really, how could you tell? I made so many mistakes."

"I'm surprised you didn't ask me to leave so as not to distract you tonight," she said walking closer with a knowing smile on her face. I could feel my blush start at my collarbone and slowly make its way up to the very top of my head.

"Yeah, um, I'm sorry about that last night," I managed to mumble.

She took another step towards me, "That's OK. And congratulations by the way, I hear you had a great game. Not that I saw it at all." I could tell from her smile that she was teasing so I just rolled my eyes and walked a bit closer.

"Well maybe if you didn't wear such a tight sweater I wouldn't have had to ask you to leave," I said feeling suddenly brave.

She stepped closer again until we were standing _very _close, "You didn't like my sweater?"

"Oh, I liked it, I liked it _very _much." I could feel her warm breath on me as our eyes met. Oh God we were about to kiss! We both moved ever so slightly closer, moving slowly, both knowing what was about to happen.

Only to jump away quickly as Mrs Summer re entered the room with a bang of a door and prattling something about forgetting her head or some such (badly timed) rubbish. The moment was gone. I shook my head, grabbed my things (which I had to hold in front of my pants) and left with a "Good night" thrown over my shoulder.

I didn't have a good sleep that night, tossing and turning trying desperately to remember every detail, every second of that almost kiss.

Our paths also didn't cross much over the next week, I suspended my piano lessons to concentrate on my basketball, and other than during our music class and at the mess hall, I didn't see her and she seemed to be avoiding looking at me as well.

The playoffs came and thankfully, if Wendy attended the games she had the decency to sit where I could not see her. We did well, we made it to the final four but unfortunately missed out on a place in the final after going down to Rogers High during extra time. After the game I was approached by a couple of scouts, one was a scout for Ohio State University, and the other was with Florida State. They asked if they would be able to sit down with me, and my parents sometime tomorrow to discuss a scholarship opportunity. Thankfully Coach Hammond stepped forward and said that he would be more than happy to step in for my parents who lived a distance away and would be unable to attend at such short notice. So we set up a meeting with Ohio at 10:00 and Florida at 11:30 the next day.

After the game the Commandant and some of the faculty took the team out to celebrate our great season. We went to a local restaurant and it didn't take long before the teachers were a bit tipsy (and quite a few of the students too) and the room was heavy with cigarette smoke (it _was_ the 80's) and raucous laughter.

My adrenalin was still high from both the game and nerves about what the next day would bring for me that I decided I needed to go out and get a bit of air and clear my head. I stepped out of the restaurant and walked across the road to a small park on the edge of a river. Walking a little further but keeping the restaurant in site (missing the bus and walking the twenty miles back to school would ruin a perfectly good day) I found a footbridge that crossed the river and walked toward the middle stopping just before a gazebo that sat in the middle. I could imagine this would be a popular make out spot for the locals. I leant over the rail and watched the water rush past below me.

I don't know how long I was there but I became aware of a familiar perfume and turned to find Wendy standing behind me. "You did good today DiNozzo."

I shrugged, "We should have made the finals." (_I was not good enough)._

Wendy let out a laugh and came to lean over the rail beside me her arms lightly brushing against mine, "From what I saw you guys did everything you could. No shame in coming third in the state Cadet."

"You watched the games?" I hadn't seen her but had hoped she was watching.

"Of course, but I made sure I wasn't a distraction to you, see no sweater this time." She turned to show she was wearing a demure electric blue faux leather jacket over a black shirt and jeans, but in my opinion she still looked stunning.

"You could dress in a ski suit and I still would have been distracted," I said turning to face her as well giving my most alluring DiNozzo smile.

This time we didn't have anyone interrupt us. The kiss was electric, amazing, mind blowing and quickly moved on to some pretty heavy petting on both of our parts. We made our way into the privacy of the gazebo and once again I sent out a silent thank you to Rebecca McKinnon for those lessons in England!

When it was over and we both came down from our orgasmic highs, Wendy stood and started to redress. "Oh God, we shouldn't have done this Tony. If anyone finds out about this I will be fired and you will be expelled. Promise me you won't tell anyone"

"I won't, I promise," I knew she was right. I was so close to getting my scholarship that I just was not willing to throw all away just because a horny teenager and a ... well a horny teacher gave in to our most basic desires. We only had three and a half months and I would graduate and the whole teacher/student thing would be a non-issue. Three and a half _really_ long months, with her in my music class, walking across the campus in her cute little skirts, catching my eye across the tables at breakfast, lunch and dinner… oh God! Three and half months would be an eternity.

"I have to go. Give me five minutes before you come back so as not to raise any attention," and with that she turned and walked away.

I returned just in time to board the bus and head back to school. I didn't see Wendy so I assumed she drove herself or grabbed a ride with someone else. I didn't dare tell my friends what had happened. I knew if rumors started that I could ruin her career. Even back in the 80's a student/teacher sex scandal was something that could follow you around, even without the media hounding that came about in the late 90's. No this was something I had to keep to myself.

The next day I woke and went to classes until 1000 hours when I went to the student lounge with Coach Hammond to meet with the Ohio State scout. He didn't beat around the bush. He advised he had been given the authority to offer me a full scholarship. We discussed course options as well and even though academically I was an excellent student, the number of hours I needed to dedicate to college basketball (40+ hours per week on average) would preclude me from undertaking any of the more _heavy_ degrees. We all agreed on a degree in Physical Education. When the discussion was finished, he stood and shook hands and advised that the official offer would be made in writing and I should have it within a week. He advised that he knew I had another offer coming to me from Florida and that I should make my decision as quickly as possible as people who were indecisive could very quickly have the opportunity taken away as there were literally thousands of students vying an opportunity such as this.

At 1130 we sat with Florida who basically offered the same deal but didn't have a Phys Ed degree to offer, instead suggesting I study one of the less challenging arts degrees. Again the offer would be sent within a week and an answer sooner rather than later would be in my best interest.

We discussed the two offers and both Coach Hammond and I thought that Ohio State would suit me better. I was going to be a Buckeye!

I headed back to class just in time to go to music. As the class settled into our seats Mrs Summer started the class by advising that Miss Miller had decided to leave RIMA and move closer to her family in Maryland.

I was stunned. I could not believe she would just leave without saying anything to me. Was I wrong about how she felt about me? Had someone found out and threatened to tell? Were three and half months too long for Wendy to wait? Or was I not enough for her?

This was the first time a woman had broken my heart. But it would not be the last.


	19. 19 - Graduation

**AN: Thank you for your kind reviews and all the new favourites and follows. Greatly appreciated and so glad you are enjoying the story as much as I am writing it.**

**19 - Graduation**

The final three and a half months of my senior year dragged on. Sure I had plenty of studying to do but I no longer had the intense training for basketball I was used to, playing instead friendlies against other teammates to close out the year. I also no longer had the rush of excitement at a glance from Wendy, or when we would 'accidentally' brushed against each other in class. Instead I had an ache in my heart that caused the remainder of the year to painfully drag by at a snails pace.

I also had to have a few more sessions with Dr Shemberg as keeping the secret of Wendy's and my dalliance was stressing me out, and that stress was causing my old OCD habit to arise again. It wasn't too bad this time around but I knew it was happening, and my other roommates could also could see it happening. Dr Shemberg helped me regain control and pull myself away from my compulsion. He also wanted me to discuss the reason why I was under so much stress but I did not disclose the whole truth, instead choosing to tell him I was nervous about my move to Ohio (hell that probably _wasn't _helping any).

Thankfully, part of our training at RIMA was to support your team, close ranks and come together as a group and help any member who needed it. Red Team did not tease or try to make it worse, they knew I had these issues and supported and helped me through it. It was so different from the ridicule I received at Long Island.

So finally graduation day was upon us. This was our last day at the school, our bags were packed and the graduation ceremony and party were about to begin. As the morning went on my nerves continued to build mainly because I had still not told my father about my decision to go to Ohio. He was still under the impression I had applied to Harvard and was awaiting my acceptance letter.

OK, maybe that was my fault! Every time he called and asked me about it I would start blabbing on about something that _sounded_ like it was connected to the conversation, but ended up steering it _away_ from the conversation and I would manage to use up our allotted five minute phone call before he realized I hadn't actually said anything he wanted to know. This would be my _second_ most valuable weapon in my arsenal when I became and investigator (and in avoiding telling friends any personal details about my life).

The time came for us to line up to receive our Graduation Certificates but I had yet to lay eyes on my father. He had promised he would be there and I (foolishly) believed he was telling the truth. I looked out at the sea of the younger Cadets in their olive green, past them to the teachers and staff watching the young men they nurtured get ready to move on with their lives, then on to the colorful array of proud parents in their finest clothes (many of them also in olive green – it was after all a Military College) and to the last rows containing other hotchpotch of partly associated, the gawkers, sticky beaks and the curious. But I did not see Dad.

Steve tried to lift my spirits by telling me he was "just running late", or that he was "sure he will make it on time", but my previous experience with the _real_ Tony DiNozzo did not give me much hope.

So the official ceremony began at 1100 hours and the 38 graduating students stood at ease in our dress uniform whilst the obligatory speeches were made. I was called out in particular and congratulated for receiving a full scholarship to Ohio State for basketball (now I was actually hoping my father wasn't here to hear that!). Then we listened to Gary Milne of Green Team give his valedictorian speech (my B+ in maths stopped me from having to give the speech). After that one by one our names were called and we went up onto the stage, saluted and received our diploma. When my name was called, I walked up on stage, saluted the Commandant, received my diploma and started to walk of the stage. It was then that I _finally_ caught sight of my father.

Was he sitting with the parents watching proudly with tears in his eyes? No.

Was he mingling in the back with the hotchpotch because he ran late but didn't want to disturb the proceedings? No.

Was he tucking his shirt back into his pants as he walked out of the nurse's room, with her closely behind also adjusting her clothing? _YES!_

I couldn't believe it! This man was … I have no words to describe how I felt at that moment. I was furious, embarrassed, disappointed and yet … I was also a little bit happy that he had turned up at all. Yep, my father and I still had a long way to go.

The end of the official ceremony ended with all the graduating cadets and current students being called to attention. Then all the cadets and military personnel of the Academy gave our graduating class one final salute before receiving our very last command from the Commandant of RIMA. "SENIOR CADETS, FALL OUT!" And that was it. That final command ended my time at Rhode Island Military Academy.

The cadets… no graduates, we were no longer cadets… went in search of their parents and were greeted with hugs, kisses and heartfelt congratulations, I made my way to where I had last seen my father. He found me first with a, "Ah there you are Junior! Great ceremony, very dignified," with an awkward slap on the back.

"Oh _really_," I stated with a raised eyebrow but a fake smile plastered on my face, "you liked it did you. Did you like the Commandants speech?" I asked knowing he hadn't heard it, especially considering the fact that he was not berating me about Ohio.

"Yes, yes, very moving."

"And the valedictory speech? That was pretty amazing hey, the way he managed to mention all those song titles in it." There were no song titles!

"Oh God yes, very… um… clever the way that was done."

"And how about the song and dance number done by the football team?"

By this time my father knew the jig was up. "Look Junior, I'm sorry I was running late. By the time I got here it was almost over."

"_Running late_? Is that what you call humping the first woman you see these days?" I still had the fake smile on my face and was trying to keep my voice as level as possible so as not to draw unwanted attention to us.

"Junior! I don't know what you …"

"Just don't Dad, I saw you OK. Was it too much to ask that you keep it in your pants long enough to see me _graduate!_ Christ Dad, it was a one hour ceremony, then you could have run away together for all I care."

For once my father remained silent. In the meantime, whilst we were having our heated but surprisingly quiet '_discussion_' I had parents and students call out to me, "Congratulations DiNozzo," and "Don't forget us when you're rich," and lots and lots of "Go Buckeyes! Woo hoo" until my father finally blurted out, "What the hell are these people on about Junior."

OK, it was time to come clean. "Look dad, about college…"

Steve Adler, however decided now was the time to come over and introduce himself. "Hello Mr DiNozzo, I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Steve and this is my mother, Sabrina Adler." Oh no, I knew that look in my father's eye. Obviously the nurse wasn't enough to sate my father's appetite today and the quite beautiful Sabrina Adler looked like she was next on the menu.

"Well hello, Sabrina, the pleasure is all mine I assure you." My father replied whilst placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Good grief! I rolled my eyes.

"Well aren't you the charmer Mr DiNozzo," she replied coyly with a twinkle in her eye. Oh boy!

"Please call me Tony, and is there a Mr Adler?" Dear lord! My eyes were so sore from the workout they were getting.

"No, divorced I'm afraid."

"Really!? He must be insane to give up such a _desirable_ woman." My father's eyes traveled all the way down to her toes and all the way back up again (stopping to take in her ample breasts).

She giggled, "Well I have had the pleasure of meeting Tony a few times but he never told me he was named after such a handsome man." Just kill me now!

"Ah, well now you get to meet the _real_ Tony DiNozzo," he held out his arm to Mrs Adler, "Would you join me for lunch?" Arm in arm they walked off towards the mess hall together.

If there were a brick wall next to me I would have been hitting my head against it. I turned to glare at Steve. "What?!" he said, all innocence.

I just shook my head and started off after our parents.

"Hey maybe we will be stepbrothers soon!" he called out laughing from behind me. I knew he was joking, but he didn't know just how very likely that scenario could be.

The mess hall had been decorated in reds and greens for the luncheon in honor of the two graduating barracks. Attendance was restricted to the graduating students, families and staff. The remaining students would enjoy a barbeque cookout for their lunch today. The long bench tables had been separated down to smaller square tables with tablecloths, flower arrangements and fancy silverware reserved for these special occasions. We were treated to a three-course meal, which had been prepared and served to us by the year 11 cadets. It was a very pleasant meal … until

"So you must be very proud of Tony," Sabrina said to my father.

"Well yes, of course, very proud." My father was of course oblivious to what she was referring to instead assuming she was talking about my turn around from delinquent to graduate.

I however I was very aware of what she was saying. I had to stop the conversation before she could say …

"A basketball scholarship to Ohio State is an amazing achievement. Can't believe I am having lunch with someone who could very well play for the NBA one day."

… that!

"I'm sorry? Tony is going to Harvard, you must be mistaken." I could see a sudden look of panic cross Mrs Adler's face as her eyes flicked from my father's look of confusion, to my look of desperation to her son's look of exasperation.

"Oh, um … sorry," she stuttered trying desperately to defuse the situation, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag.

"What the hell is she talking about Junior?" My father sent me a glare across the table.

I asked my father to go outside because I _knew_ this conversation would not be quiet and hidden behind fake smiles like our earlier one.

"Look Dad, about college, I…"

"Tell me you applied to Harvard!" my father interrupted.

"Ohio State is a leading…"

"_Did you_ or did you _not_ apply to _Harvard_!" My father yelled.

"No."

The look of fury that crossed my father's face actually made me take a step back and flinch, but the hit never came.

"How could you do this to me? Harvard was the plan, Junior. How the hell are you going to make anything of yourself without a business degree. Who am I going to have run my business. What happens when you finish playing your silly games at college… what then? Hmm, are you just going to sit around on your ass and expect me to keep you because if you do then you have another thing coming my boy!" My father's voice had continued to rise through his tirade.

"_Keep me_!" I yelled back. "When have you ever _kept _me? You have done nothing but shove me from school to school and camp to camp my whole life! You may have had to _pay_ for me but you have never _kept_ me."

" Why you ungrateful little…"

"Oh I'm ungrateful am I? What the _hell _do I have to be grateful for? A father who can't be bothered including me in his life? A father who can't even come and celebrate my graduation without sticking his dick in some woman? A father who doesn't even have a room for me in his own home?" By this time I was screaming and we had managed to draw some unwanted attention from those inside. "Fine I'm ungrateful but at least I'm not a self centered, egotistical, asshole like _you!"_ This time the hit came, but I didn't flinch, I _refused_ to flinch.

We stared at each other, while those inside the hall stared out at us. Sargent Rayner, who had witnessed most of the argument came outside to us. He placed his had on my shoulder and said quietly but forcefully, "Mr DiNozzo, I think you need to leave sir." There was no doubt whose side he was on.

My father pulled his shoulders back, straightened his tie, and said, "That is exactly what I intend to do. Good luck, Junior, you're going to need it." And with that he turned and walked away.

It would be four years before I saw him again.


	20. 20 - Go Buckeyes!

**AN: Not a huge chapter this one so I am giving you two for the price of one. Will post this and 21 now and 22 in two days. Cheers.**

**20 – Go Buckeyes!**

After my father and I had our fight, I was left in a dilemma. You see I had nowhere to go. I was supposed to be going home with him (wherever it was that he lived at the moment) until it was time to head of to college. Now I was looking at nearly three months of being homeless. Great!

However, whether out of generosity, or guilt, Mrs Adler agreed to let me stay with her and Steve in Springfield, Massachusetts. After all Steve and I were both heading to Ohio State, me on my scholarship and he to do an Economics degree.

Over the break I managed to get myself a fairly good paying summer job, but Mrs Adler refused to take any rent off me instead encouraging me to save as much as I can while I could. I also dipped into the money my Uncle Clive had given me and bought myself a car (my beloved Corvette I would have for the next 15 years until it was stolen and smashed by some heartless, low life, mother f... I digress).

When the time came to leave, Steve and I packed up the car and said goodbye to his mother and brothers. Steve gave his mother a huge hug and a kiss, and his brothers received some noogies. It was nice. I was just about to get behind the wheel when Mrs Adler came over and gave me a hug and a kiss too.

"You take care of yourself Tony, and if you need _anything_ you let me know, OK!" She held my shoulders and looked up into my eyes to make sure I knew she was serious. "You are welcome here anytime sweetheart," she gave me another hug and whispered in my ear, "_you are the_ real_ Tony DiNozzo and don't you let your father tell you otherwise,_" and then she stepped back.

As we pulled away I could see her and the boys waving to us until we were out of sight. My eyes burnt with unshed tears, not because I was going to miss them as such, but from the simple act of kindness offered my Steve's mother. I could hear Steve sniffing in the seat beside me and decided to pretend I didn't notice and allow him a moment to pull himself together.

We took two days to drive to Columbus and when we arrived at college we found that our request to be roomed together had been approved. It was a good thing too, because between our different courses, and my travelling with basketball, we would never have seen each other if we didn't share a room. Even then we could go for a week without crossing paths while awake. Only time we managed some real time together was on our annual spring break trips to Florida.

The next four years would be the best of my life. Again this was a place where I was kept busy all the time. Over 40 hours a week with basketball, either travelling, training or playing; then there was lectures and study for the course I still had to complete; then the fraternity parties and finally … the ladies! Oh the _lay-dees_!

This was the first time I had actually ever attended a co-ed facility since I was a kid, and I _liked it!_ And as it turned out, they liked me too. A lot! This was the start of '_the playboy_' portion of my life. The lessons provided over a year ago by Rebecca were a great foundation but the lessons I learnt from the ladies on campus! Now that was by far the best education I received at college. I know this sounds cocky but it turns out that basketball wasn't the _only_ thing I excelled at.

For the four years I attended Ohio State I never really had a really serious relationship. Usually it would be a date or two after which I would seal the deal and move on. Occasionally someone would intrigue me and I might date her for a month or two, but due to my grueling schedule (and the fact there were so many other women around) we would eventually break up and move on. I don't recall ever ending on bad terms with anyone during that time.

I was doing well with my classes, not as well as I had at high school but considering the little amount of time I actually had to apply to my studies, I thought it was pretty good.

I also made the varsity team within twelve months and appointed captain in my final year.

Even though I didn't have any contact with my father in that time, it was still the best time of my life. Maybe it was _because_ I didn't have contact with my father that it felt so enjoyable.


	21. 21 - The Fire

**21 – The Fire**

This is the story of the first time I saved someone's life. It is also the story of the first time I was unable to save someone's life.

It was the end of our 88-89 season and Ohio State had made the final four (go Buckeyes!) and we had travelled to Baltimore, Maryland who were hosting the finals tournament. Our team had been doing well, obviously, and my life had been travelling along well so I was set for a good game. All I had to do was keep my head in the game and it was highly likely we could take out the Championship. So, in trying to do just that, I decided to take a walk the night before our semi final to clear my head and get in the zone.

I had been walking for about half an hour going over plays in my mind, thinking about the strengths and weaknesses in both our team and Penn State's team when I heard faint screams. I rounded a corner and I noticed a house on fire and realized that is where the sounds were emanating. Without even thinking it through, in an act that would earn me both hero and idiot status, I ran in. On the second floor I found a young boy hidden in his closet screaming for someone to find him. I grabbed him out and started to head out when I heard more screaming from further down the hall. The boy was yelling at me to save his sister but as I turned to head down to her room, one of the ceiling beams collapsed both blocking my way and signally the inevitable collapse of the house.

I had to make a choice. I turned and carried the boy out of the house leaving his little sister inside, hoping desperately that the sirens outside would signal the arrival of her saviors. Sadly, only about a minute after I got out with the boy, the whole second floor collapsed. There was no hope for her.

_This_ is one of those 'what if' moments that would haunt me for years. In my mind I knew I had made the right choice, but my heart… it had a _whole_ other opinion. My mind _knew_ I wouldn't have had enough time to get both out, but my heart kept saying, 'what if you saved her first?', or 'what if you went to her and passed them out a window'. It was full of helpful suggestions. It was also my heart that kept up my internal mantra; _I was not enough._

I found out when I handed over the boy to the paramedics that his name was Jason. Turns out he would be fine, just a bit of smoke inhalation but they whisked him away to the hospital for treatment as his parents were not around. I never found out where his parents were or why they left a 6 and 4 year old alone in their house. I was also treated for smoke inhalation but after having some oxygen for about 10 minutes and being questioned by the police and fire department I was allowed to leave.

I returned to the team hotel to be met by my coach in the foyer. "DiNozzo, where the hell have you been? Curfew was 20 minutes ago!" It was about this time that my adrenalin had stopped coursing through my veins and the reality of what had just happened hit me all at once. I started to shake and I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

"Jesus, what the hell happened?"

So I told him. I didn't come out as, "I ran into a building and saved a kids life tonight." No, what I said was, "I couldn't save her, I tried but I just couldn't get to her." Eventually he managed to get the whole story out of me.

He had the team doctor check me out and sometime after midnight I was finally sent to bed to try and get some sleep.

The next day I desperately tried to get back into the head zone I needed for the game, but try as I might I just could _not_ get those images and sounds out of my mind. I only played 20 minutes of the game before the coach inevitably pulled me out. Our team ended up going down to Penn by 18 points.

However, as terrifying and heartbreaking as the ordeal had been, I had also been fascinated as I watched the first responders. The paramedics, firefighters and police just took _control_! That was cool. I think it was that night that I got the first grain of a suggestion of an inclination that I would maybe like to do this. I mean, I _knew_ I didn't have to worry about that because, let's face it, I was going to be picked for the NBA, but if something so _incredibly_ unlikely happened and I _couldn't _play, then just maybe I could be a firefighter, or a paramedic or even a cop.

Yeah a cop! No a detective, or a Fed. A Fed would be cool.


	22. 22 - Tough Break

**22 – Tough Break**

So my final year at college had arrived and it was time to look seriously at my options for after school.

I had been receiving some good feedback from both my coach and some NBA scouts throughout my time at college. The scouts had suggested I bypass the draft because, lets face it, only the best of the best get picked through that, and while I was good, I was not going to be the next Larry Bird (pretty much the only white guy in the hall of fame from the 80's). Bypassing the draft would allow me to become a free agent and sell myself to a team directly. I already had some serious interest from the Cleveland Cavaliers and Milwaukee Bucks and a "we might be able to do something" from Miami Heat and Seattle Supersonics.

Our season was coming to an end, with just three more games to play before the playoffs, I knew I had to nail these last games to get both a firm offer from a team, and a manager to take me pro. There were three guys on our team who were all hoping to go pro so during these final games we had quite a number of scouts and managers watching. It was a full house for the Ohio State V Michigan game and the atmosphere was electric.

From the first whistle the game was intense. Both teams were playing for a spot in the final four, and both teams had scouts and managers watching their preferred players so getting the interest of your opponent's watchers as well as your own was a bonus. There were more fouls and interference called in that one game than had been called nearly the entire season.

When the final quarter was on us the score was close 78-75 in our favor. The whistle blew, the ball went up and we were off. The game moved quickly, there was pushing and shoving, there were fouls and free throws. It was one of the most taxing games I have ever played, and I was playing great. I was setting up shots, calling the plays, I was everywhere I needed to be. It was one of the best games of my career… until.

I could sense movement behind me but with my eyes on the ball I didn't see the Michigan player behind me falling, but I did see the ball flying through the air straight at me, and I did see the Michigan player in front of me also trying to get the ball. I stepped back, caught the ball, connected with the falling player behind me, was hit by the Michigan player in front of me, and CRACK!

I highly doubt that sound was picked up by the PA systems and reverberated through the entire arena, but it sure sounded that way to me.

The only sound after that was a collective gasp and my screams of agony. I was quickly whisked away by the on scene medical staff and as I was carried off the court I could hear the announcers say, "That's a damn shame. That's probably a career ender right there folks. Everyone lets give DiNozzo a round of applause for a great game."

My team doctor accompanied me to the hospital were I had to undergo surgery for a broken tibia and fibula. When I came around my coach and the team doctor were with me. Turns out I had to have both bones realigned and a screw in my tibia for extra strength. I was looking at six weeks before I could put any sort of weight on it and up to six months including rehab, before I would be considered fully healed.

However, even though I was expected to make a full recovery, I didn't need to be told to kiss my pro dreams goodbye. You see a full recovery in sport is a _completely_ different kettle of fish to a full recovery in general life. If a player has received a major injury, the chances of them getting injured again are increased to the point where no team will touch you. I may be able to run and jump and even have a game of hoops with some friends, but an injury like this could easily recur on a professional level because the bone will never be as strong as it was before the break. Also, the players tend to hold back as well after a major break in fear of aggravating or repeating the injury.

I was devastated. And once again my mind started playing the "what if" game with me. Not only was I dealing with my internal demons, but I was going to have to deal with an external one as well. Turns out my school had tracked down my "next of kin" as was standard when a student was hospitalized. Dad was on his way.

I awoke the next morning to a glorious day. I could see through the window that the sky was a deep vibrant blue with fluffy white clouds floating by and multi colored birds flying past leaving rainbow streamers in their wake. Ok, I'm going to be honest here, I was on some pretty serious pain killers and I tend to see things a little more… _artfully_ shall we say, when under their influence.

So after not having seen me in almost four years, my father walked in as I was oohing and ahhing at sights unseen by mere mortal eyes with what I can only imagine was a dopey, toothy grin on my face.

"Junior, how are you feeling?"

"Hey there daddy-oh. I'm feeling gooooood. How you been man?" Thankfully this was the only snippet of conversation I remember but my father informed me years later that it really didn't improve much from there. He gave up after a half an hour and decided to return the next day when the doctors told him my meds would be reduced.

I awoke the _next_ morning to a far more mundane view from my window, of an overcast sky, stock standard pigeons flying past, and a scowl had replaced the drugged up grin on my face. Yep, definitely reduced my meds overnight.

"Junior, how are you feeling?" Déjà vu.

"Fine I suppose," I responded much less enthusiastically than yesterday.

The conversation was stilted and uncomfortable for both of us, neither of us wanting to bring up the last time we were together yet both unable to forget it. That big ol' elephant just sat in the room with us.

He told me he was still single but dating and living in an apartment in Manhattan. I told him a bit about my time at college and answered any questions he asked. It would be considered a pleasant conversation between two people who barely knew each other, and I guess that is exactly what it was.

"So the doctors have told me that you won't be able to play football anymore," he said.

"I play basketball Dad."

He waved his hand dismissively, "Whatever, the point is you _played _it and you can't play it anymore. So what are you going to do now?"

I could feel my stress levels rising just waiting for the "I told you so" speech but I was not in the mood, "Just don't Dad."

"Don't what?" he asked almost innocently.

"Don't give me the 'I told you so' speech OK. I know you are just dying to lecture me but you can just save your breath OK. I don't want to hear it."

"Look Junior, I know you and I have not seen eye-to-eye in the past but I am not giving you a lecture. You are 23 now…"

"I'm 21 Dad, it turn 22 in July, geez!"

He sighed, "Fine, you are _almost_ 22 and too old for me to tell you what to do. Let's face it you haven't let me tell you what to do for a _long_ time now. I just want to know that you have a plan for the future. I am sure we can still get you in to Harvard if you want, I know a few people on the boards of admissions…"

I rolled my eyes instantly on the defensive, "Dad, I am not going to go to Harvard!" I looked over at him and actually found myself really looking at him. He had aged a lot in the last four years. Oh he still looked good, don't get me wrong, but his dark hair was now more salt and pepper, and there were more frown lines and wrinkles than I remember. And more importantly, he actually looked like he was being genuinely concerned about me. It was a look I had not seen in a long time. I softened my stance, "Look Dad, I appreciate the offer but going to Harvard was never my dream, it was yours. I just can't see myself sitting behind a desk pushing money around from one place to another. It doesn't interest me and, let's be honest, if you let me loose with that kind of money I would just spend it on cars, women and movies … Kind of like you do now." This actually managed to elicit a grin from us both. "I still have a couple of months of college left, I will get my degree and go from there I suppose. I can talk to the guidance councilors and see what they suggest. I might not be able to play but I could coach I suppose, or teach Phys Ed at a high school or something. I'll work it out. You don't need to worry about me, I'll can work it out for myself."

My father looked as if he wanted to say something but instead just nodded his head and stood up. "OK Junior, well I'll let you get some sleep now. I'm off back to New York this afternoon so I guess this is goodbye." He pulled out a pen and notepad from his pocket and wrote something down. "Here is my phone number and my address, so let me know what you end up doing and if you are back in New York anytime, maybe we might be able to catch up for dinner or something."

I took the offered note and nodded, "Sure, sounds good."

He looked over at me one more time, again looking like he wanted to say something more but all he said was, "Take care Junior," and then he left.

I opened the note and scanned the phone number and address but it was what he wrote down the bottom that most surprised me. In his neat writing were the words:

_I've missed you son, Love Dad._

**Let me know what you think.**


	23. 23 - What Next?

**AN: This is a something I have added that is not canon. **

**The reason is that based on Tony's time line of when he was born, and when he started NCIS there are four or five years unaccounted for. If he were born in 1968 (as stated by Senior) then he would have graduated high school in 1986 (his 18****th**** year as per admissions to school for the 70's) and college in 1990 (if he did a 4 year degree). However, in season 1 Tony stated he had his 2-year anniversary with NCIS in Oct 2003 meaning he started in Oct 2001 (FLECT training for 8 weeks prior). **

**He stated he had been with Baltimore PD for 2 years before that therefore starting with them late in 1999. He had 18 months in Philly, so started there early 1998, and 2 years in Peoria which would bring us back to early 1996. Now even if you are lax with these dates the earliest he could have gone into the Police academy would have been mid to late 1995 so what did he do between 1990 and 1995? **

**This is my suggestion of what he did in that time and why he ended up being a police officer in Illinois rather than Ohio. Whilst there is a Peoria in Ohio the population is approx 150 people so I doubt that is the one he is talking about.**

**23 - What next?**

So I returned to college later that week on crutches with a large and cumbersome cast on my leg. I was under strict instructions to place no weight whatsoever on my leg for the first six weeks. The horror stories my doctor told me of permanent damage convinced me to agree to this and in fact it was seven weeks before I was tempted to try. After that I still had crutches but was in a walking cast for the next 3 months, and finally just a brace part time until I was freed six months after my injury.

I found myself with a lot of free time on my hand so in between classes and spending time with a few particularly caring and imaginative ladies (wink, wink) I managed to find time to discuss my future aspirations with my guidance councilor.

The first few times we met we discussed the possibility of teaching or coaching and what I would need to do to do that. We also discussed other things I was interested in but we both felt a career spent watching movies would not be advantageous to my future prosperity.

So I was told to think about it and come back again in a couple of weeks to see if any other ideas had come up. I only had a month left at school and I must admit, I was starting to get a little worried about my future. I mean I knew going pro was not written in stone but my back up plan of being a coach or a teacher had one _major _drawback… I didn't like kids.

Well technically that wasn't true, it's not that_ I_ didn't like kids it was more that kids didn't like _me_ and that, in turn, made me rather unenthused about being around them let alone teach them.

In the midst of all of this career decision-making, we had a pretty major incident occur at our dorm. You see, one of our female students had been raped and murdered just outside our building. From the moment the first responders arrived, until the arrest of the perpetrator was made, I was fascinated. It was like having my own TV drama played out right in front of me. From our room Steve and I could actually see the body so we sat at our window all night just watching the show unfold below us just like Jimmy Stewart in _Rear Window_ (I had the cast but not the wheelchair). We watched as the first responders arrived and taped off the area, then as the Coroner examined and removed the body, as the detectives and forensic officers scoured the area for clues. We were even interviewed by the detectives but were instantly removed from the suspect list as I was still practically immobile, and Steve had been off campus until after the body had been found.

When we found out that one of the boys in our dorm was a suspect we ran down (well I hobbled as fast as I could) to the two floors below and watched as the room was searched and evidence removed. Two days later that same student was arrested and taken away in handcuffs and thanks to being at the right place at the right time, I was there to witness every word of his Miranda rights.

That was when it hit me! _This_ is what I wanted to do. The seed had been sewn a year ago in Baltimore with Jason but it had become full bloom over the last couple of days. I was perfect for it, I was intelligent, fit, eager and even more importantly, I was nosey!

As soon as the detectives and the suspect were out of my sight I turned tail and ran (well hobbled as quickly as I could on my crutches) straight up to the career councilors office. Now I would like to say I burst into his office and stated, "I want to be a cop!" but sadly he was in with somebody and as I didn't have an appointment, I actually had to be turned away and come back at 4:15pm which was the next available slot … But at 4:15 I burst through the door and stated, "I want to be a cop!" Ok I knocked politely and said, "I was thinking that maybe I might want to join the police force," but in my mind it was much more dramatic.

So we went though my options. I could apply for the Ohio PD but due to my injury I would have to be fully recovered before they would even consider me. And of course I would have to pass a fitness test which ordinarily would be a walk in the park, but as I would be unable to do anything above a walk for six months I may need to do some work on that first.

Also, if I wanted to advance beyond the standard uniform police and look at becoming a detective or even a FBI agent (that is the only federal agency I knew about besides CIA at the time) it would really be advantageous to consider doing further study in a connected field to help my chances.

So it was decided that I would apply to do a degree in Criminal Justice and after applying to several colleges, I was accepted at Illinois State University in Normal, Illinois (yes that was really the name of the town) a couple of hours outside of Chicago. However, due to my injury, and the fact that I would actually have to pay for this trip to college, I deferred for 12 months to allow time for my leg to heal and to get myself a job and arrange a student loan. So when the new-year arrived, I was healed, had an income and was ready to start in my new chosen career.

As promised I had called my dad and told him of my plans to which his response was, "Well at least you have a plan I suppose." His pride in me was overwhelming (that was sarcasm in case it didn't come across in the written form). Yep we may be speaking but we still had a lot of talking to do.


	24. 24 - Illinois State

**AN: Sorry guys, just a short one this time around.**

**24 – Illinois State**

The next four years I concentrated on my classes and my fitness. My leg healed well and it was only a couple of months later that I was back to full fitness.

I managed one trip to New York, which was to attend the wedding of my father to Step-mom number 3. I want to say Sonia … maybe Sandra? Anyway, it was a pleasant enough trip as far as Senior/Junior reunions go. We talked without actually saying anything, I told him about my new college and my plans to get into the Police force, he smiled politely and then steered the conversation to what _he_ was actually interested in.

I also managed to find time and dropped in and visited my Nona May and Papa Dante for the first time in what felt like a million years. I was glad I did because a year later I had to return to attend my Nona May's funeral. My Nona was a lovely lady, who I sadly never got to know overly well as an adult. As a small boy though I remember we would have dinner every Sunday night at their home and I would also stay with her and Papa Dante when my Mom and Dad were travelling (which was a lot). Whenever we were in their home though, we were to speak in Italian only. "You need to speak the mother tongue, Anthony. Never forget you are a proud Italian from a family that goes back generations." Even though I didn't speak Italian much as I got older, those weeks and sometimes even months with them were enough to cement the language in my mind for life.

When I told them both about my decision to join the police force Nona was excited for me and told me how proud she was that I found something I was passionate about. My Papa Dante merely snorted and said, "I knew you would end up involved with the police but I assumed you would be arrested, not doing the arresting. Your father had no control over you the damn fool." It would seem my Dad's disappointing apple didn't fall far from his father's tree. Like father like son I suppose.

It was also during my time at Illinois that I had my first, full-blown relationship. Angela Fuentes was a beautiful, strong, independent, goddess of a woman and I was smitten. We were together every spare moment for eight glorious months. Sadly, as much as I loved Angela, I was never really _in love_ with her and when push came to shove, she wanted a diamond ring, and I just wasn't ready to make that sort of commitment to her, or to anyone yet. So we parted ways. I would like to say it was a mutual parting and we remained friends but … after coming out one night to find all of my tires on my Corvette slashed and _fuck you_ scratched into my windscreen I don't think that would be an accurate description. So four tires and one new windscreen later, I was back on the market.

I am proud to say I eventually graduated from my course with honors and was accepted into the Illinois State Police Academy in Springfield starting in the October.


	25. 25 - Boston Marathon

**AN: Bit of a lighter story this time around, I have some pretty big chapters on the way. Sorry there is a bit of swearing in this one. Hope I don't offend anyone.**

**25 – Boston Marathon**

After injuring my leg I knew I had to get into peek physical condition again, not necessarily for the police force, but more for me, so I set myself goals that I had to achieve whilst I was in college. The final goal and the pinnacle of my fitness regime was to run a marathon. Now you would think for someone who has been an athlete like me, this would be a walk in the park, but I got to tell you, a marathon is… Really. Fucking. Hard!

There were a group of five of us entering, my best friend, Steve Adler, who was now living in Boston doing something Economicish, two friends from Ohio State, Jose and Owen, who were on the basketball team with me, and my personal trainer, Rick, who had helped me get back into shape after my injury and who thought running a marathon would be "fun" and "a great story to tell your kids".

So the morning of April 17, 1995 my friends and I were somewhere in the middle of the 9,410 runners who had entered the 99th Boston Marathon. It took us four minutes to even cross the starting line after the gun went off but we soon were on our way.

Now I don't think it matters how hard you train, how good you are at carb loading, and watching your fluid intake, the first time you do a marathon you _will_ wish you were dead… not straight away, but somewhere around that 15 mile mark, just before what is called "heartbreak hill".

Our group had split up of course as we each got into our personal stride, Rick, my trainer had taken a commanding lead, then Jose was next, then me, and I have no idea where the others were. Turns out Steve who had not done as much sport as the rest of us had thrown in the towel around the 12 mile mark and caught the bus to the finish line, but a good effort by him.

So as I say it is around the 15 mile mark that you tend to question your sanity at having entered such a _ridiculous_ race, and if you will actually survive even if you fell to the ground now. It had been fun up until now, there were bands playing, people cheering, women flashing their boobs and a general carnival atmosphere but as that hill loomed ahead of me, my legs felt like jello (no jello is far to firm a substance to compare to how my legs felt at this stage), my head was thumping in time with each footstep, and my feet felt like the entire layer of skin was slowly peeling away. Why was I doing this again? Oh yeah that's right it would be _"fun". _Fuck you Rick, this was painful, pointless, possibly fatal and all together _not _fun.

However, as I slowly climbed heartbreak hill, keeping pace to my new mental mantra "fuck you Rick" (who I ironically passed on the way up but didn't have enough breath to say out loud) something happened, I caught my second wind! As I crested the hill and started on the downward slope and the remaining 10 miles all of a sudden my legs regained some solidity, my feet although still throbbing, no longer felt like they were wrapped in jellyfish tentacles, and my lungs which had been previously incapable of inhaling anywhere near enough oxygen to sustain life, were now back to their fully functioning self. I fell like I could go on forever.

And this feeling carried me on until … about a mile from the finish. And then it all came crashing down again. But I wasn't going to stop. I only had a mile to go and if I had to crawl over the finish line I was going to do it (in fact there were about seven people who did, in fact, crawl over the line). I pushed myself onwards, only aware of my feet impacting the ground through the stabbing pain in my brain, because lets face it, I had no feeling below my waist anymore. My mental mantra had changed from "fuck you Rick" to "I'm going to kill you Rick" and whilst not as catchy it still did the trick.

Finally I rounded that last corner and there it was, the finish line. I don't know where I got the energy but as soon as I saw that line I just wanted to finish this god-damn race so I started to sprint. I could hear the crowd cheering me on, and on the other side of the line was Steve, waiting with a space blanket and a drink. I crossed the line in 3 hours 56 minutes and 48 seconds placing me in 786th place.

Steve came over to me and draped the space blanket around my shoulders hand me a drink and steered me towards the side where I promptly threw up before collapsing to the ground were I would remain for the next 40 minutes. I was kind of upset I broke the DiNozzo rule of never throwing up, but I think this was one of those moments that it can be forgiven.

Rick stumbled over the line about 23 minutes later and I greeted him with, "I hate you so much right now", to which he responded, "yeah this was a stupid fucking idea."

Jose came in 5 minutes later, and collapsed in a fetal position beside us making sounds that sounded amazingly similar to sobs but he later assured us were manly grunts of accomplishment. It turns out I had passed him at around the 14 mile mark but I was so engrossed in my own world of pain I didn't notice. Finally Owen stumbled across the line nearly two hours later eating a meatball sub he had picked up along the way and swigging on a Coke. Way to commit there Owen! Turns out he had quit running around the five mile mark and decided to walk the remainder. Turned out to be quite a pleasant day for him.

When we finally got back to Steve's place, who had been kind enough to put us all up in his tiny 1 bedroom apartment, I peeled off my shoes and blood soaked socks and discovered five of my toenails had turned black (I would later lose the outer two on my right food and the big one on my left), the skin on my heels had peeled away leaving a bloody raw mess, and on the balls of my feet were the biggest blisters I have ever seen in my life. They were both four inches long and over an inch wide. It was so gross and I couldn't walk for two days. Steve took a photo of them and I proudly have that displayed in my gym locker so I can always remember what I am capable of.

I never entered a marathon again but this was one of those moments in your life where if you are in need of a confidence boost you look back at this moment and say, "I did that!"

And Rick was right, it _was_ a great story to tell my kids.


	26. 26 - Police Academy

**AN: So sorry this is another short one but there are a few doozies coming up.**

**26 – Police Academy**

Finally it was time to start training to be a police officer. Once again I found myself living in a barrack and being called a cadet and wearing that drab olive green, but I loved every minute of it. While some of the other men and women were a bit taken aback when a big burley officer came and yelled in their face for one infraction or another, my time at RIMA had already prepared me for this and my unprompted, "Sir, yes sir!" both impressed and confused my training officers.

There were a couple of ex army and one ex marine in my intake, also looking at a new career now that Desert Storm was almost finished and their tours were over. I seemed to gravitate to them for some reason, maybe it was my time in RIMA and I had that sort of military mind-set, but we all became good friends.

We also pushed each other in the physical training as well. We four were by far the strongest and fittest in our class and excelled in all of our physical training sessions.

However, there was a lot to learn and only 12 weeks to learn it so our down time really did consist of studying, sleeping and eating. Thankfully my Criminal Justice degree had given me a good basis of the law and theory behind it all, but the amount we had to learn here was quite overwhelming.

Our day was split in two, with the first six hours inside being taught the theory lessons such as: Interviewing techniques, Community Policing, Case Preparation and Courtroom Testimony, Criminal Law, Decision Making, Police Response to the Mentally Ill, Report Writing and so on and so forth.

The Second part of the day was two hours of the fun physical stuff: Control and Arrest Tactics, Traffic Direction, Self Defense, CPR and general fitness training.

By far the most fun was had on the gun range with Firearms training. I had never held a gun before, let alone shot one but after that first shot that scares the _shit_ out of you, I quickly picked up the techniques and become a damn fine shot. In fact, I qualified top in my class for the Glock 22 and 2nd on the rifle.

We also spent a full day at the purpose built defensive driving course where we learnt how to handle a vehicle during a high speed chase, how to control the vehicle in the wet and snow, how to use the vehicle as a weapon when no other option is available, and basically drive around like mad men (and women).

At the end of our course we were given our assignments which could have been anywhere in Illinois except Chicago who had their own dedicated Academy. I was assigned to Peoria.

14 weeks after I entered I graduated top in my class as Officer Anthony DiNozzo. It was also here that I decided to re-embrace the name Anthony. Anthony sounded more commanding, more authoritative. So Anthony for work, and Tony for friends… that would work.


	27. 27 - Peoria

**AN: Thank you so much for all the follows, favourites and reviews. Love reading all your notes and thank you for the note about the Boston Marathon. I did not know that and I hope it wasn't too much of a distraction to you when you were reading it. Anyway, the small chapters seem to be over for now and I have some really long ones on the way. Not long now until we meet the team. Please drop me a note and let me know your thoughts on any aspect of the story so far or what you are wanting to read about.**

**Cheers Donna**

**27 - Peoria**

Peoria was full of firsts for me. First assignment as a cop, first arrest, first car chase, first undercover stint and first time I killed someone.

My first day also coincided with my first foot chase too. I was on my first foot patrol with my new partner, Officer Jackson, and we came across a bag snatcher. We saw the offender snatch the bag from a little old lady and when Jackson called out he was off, and so was I. Jackson and I were neck and neck for a little while but, whilst he was fit, he was not as fit as me, so he started to drop off but I kept going. The perp was obviously fit too but slowly, I started to catch him, we ran for blocks and blocks until finally I was close enough to tackle him and we went down. I quickly managed to subdue him and snapped the cuffs on him.

I radioed back to Jackson who sent the nearest car to come pick us up. When they arrived they looked us up and down, sneered and proceeded to take my collar off me (the collar as in the arrest, not my shirt collar for those who don't know police lingo). They then loaded him into the car and with a "enjoy your walk back" and then they took off. Nice! Turns out rookies who make an arrest on their first day make the other officers look bad so they steel them. I dusted off my cap and headed back in the direction I came from.

Sadly, as it was my first day on the job in a new _town _I actually had _no_ idea where the hell I was. Turns out my radio conversation with Jackson about where I was and him guiding me back, through as many back alleys and dead ends and wrong turns he could, was _very_ entertaining to the remaining patrols who were happily listening in.

So my first day I also go my nickname and I was greeted by my fellow officers as Compass everyday for the next two years. Thankfully I was quite happy to take the ribbing, I had after all been pledged into a fraternity so I knew what it was like to be hazed (and Compass was much more subdued than Sex Machine as I had been named at college), and they in turn appreciated my sense of humor and I was soon accepted as one of the team.

I also made sure I wouldn't get caught out again and for the next two weeks, when I wasn't at work, I was driving around the streets of my district learning every street name and major landmarks. No way was I getting lost again. I also made sure I knew the main streets in every district of Peoria as well, which came in handy when I graduated up to the Patrol car. My nickname soon came to mean I _was _a human Compass, rather than I needed one.

For the most part I enjoyed my time at Peoria. I learnt my job and I did it well. I even received a few commendations and letters of appreciation for my jacket (again, jacket is personnel file and not an item of clothing, with or without a collar. Now I think about it why is everything named after clothing?).

About a year after I started at Peoria, I had my fist stint at doing undercover work. It wasn't a grand undercover operation or anything, just making contact with a known associate of a money-laundering syndicate and trying to befriend them and get some inside information to back up the detective who _was _in deep. Now there are three things I have excelled at in my life, basketball, sex (don't mean to brag but …) and undercover work. I performed my task so well with the first job that I was soon called upon regularly as back up for the undercover specialists.

And it was during one of these that I took my first life.

I had been working for about three months to ingratiate myself with a local heroin dealer and had finally managed to get a face to face with the local king-pin, a Marcus Brenti AKA T Boz. I was going to talk to him about how I wasn't happy with my current supplier's product and I was looking for a new one. One of our guys, a Detective Albertoni, was already in and was one of security detail of T Boz's second in command. The idea was that I was going to make a "mistake" that would be picked up by Albertoni and therefore I would be outed as a mole for the opposition. Albertoni would gain the trust of T Boz and then hopefully be moved up to his security detail and therefore, have front line access to his dealings. Well that was the plan. So long as I wasn't shot on the spot it should work well.

However, even the best planned out schemes can go wrong, and this one did... _spectacularly_.

So I arrived at the meeting with T Boz and his two personal security guys were there (I shall call them Muscle 1 & Muscle 2), but I didn't see Albertoni. I was unarmed and while I had other detectives and uniforms outside, inside I was alone. So without Albertoni I just decided to proceed with the meeting as if I wanted to change the suppliers and get the hell out of there. Just as we were about to shake and I was about to become the newest drug dealer on his team (yay me!) the doors burst open and Albertoni was dragged in by his hair (by Muscle 3) and thrown at T Boz's feet. He had been made. This was not good!

The following happened in only a matter of seconds but it felt like everything was in slow motion to me. Muscle 3 informed T Boz that Albertoni was an undercover cop so T Boz gave the instant instruction to Muscle 1, "kill him" at which point I (thankfully) was all but forgotten and Muscle 2 stepped in front of me to watch the action. Without thinking I grabbed him from behind in a headlock, pulled his gun from his holster and shot Muscle 1. Muscle 3 then pointed his gun at me, but as I was still hiding behind Muscle 2 he didn't have a clear shot. By this time Albertoni regained his wits and took out Muscle 3's legs and after a struggle managed to get his gun which he proceed to point at T Boz who had also pulled his own gun. Still with me? Good.

So it was at this point that the doors burst open and the cavalry came to save the day having been given the green light when shots were heard. After the adrenalin wore off I started to shake and was taken outside and checked out. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed that I had actually lost control of my bladder slightly and while it may not have been noticeable to any of _them_, it certainly was noticeable to _me_. All I wanted to do was go home and clean myself up. But after a police shooting there are hours of endless questions, paperwork, more questions and more paperwork.

I found out that Muscle 1's real name was James Wentworth, a name I will never forget. You never forget the name of the first person you kill. In fact, I never forget the names of anyone I killed, one of the perks of the job I suppose.

So sometime after midnight following my 10am meeting with T Boz, I was finally allowed to return home. I was suspended with pay until the investigation into the shooting was complete which was standard procedure, but I was quietly freaking out. There would be more questions and paperwork tomorrow, including an interview with both Internal Affairs and the District Attorney's office. Because I had not been given direct authorization to shoot,_ and_ I didn't use my own weapon it was quite possible I might even have to appear in front of a Grand Jury to see if any charges should be laid against me. My new career could be in tatters in a matter of days and I may very well end up in jail.

This, you can imagine for a new police officer, is quite a stressful situation and so, as it tends to do when I am stressed, my OCD decided to come and pay me a visit me again. Now I had been up front with my psychologist with the force and had declared my OCD, but as it was under control, rarely recurred and was only considered mild, I had been passed to "perform all duties of a member of the police force". However, I never mentioned it to my workmates so when I was visited the next day by my Captain he was _surprised_ to find me on my hands and knees scrubbing my kitchenette floor to within an inch of it's life.

Now I had always been a fairly open person, I may not go into great details about things, but I have never purposefully held anything back from friends and so, in that vein, I told my Captain about my little issue.

And that was the last time I would _ever_ put my trust in someone so easily.

When I arrived back at the precinct later that afternoon for my interview with Internal Affairs my OCD had apparently become common knowledge and judging by the sniggers and finger pointing as I walked through my station house, it was not well received.

By the time I had finished with IA and the DA it was very late. Thankfully, with Detective Albertoni's complimenting story and his support, it was decided that the kill was justified and no charges would be laid. The relief was immense.

But it would be short lived. I went to my locker to pull out my gym bag and found the inside covered in what I assume is the inside of a vacuum bag. Judging from the laughter coming from behind me this was no accident (not that accidentally emptying a vacuum bag in my locker was likely). I slammed the door and walked away hoping tomorrow would be better and this was just a badly timed little prank.

I decided to drop by Detective Albertoni's desk and thanked him.

"Thank you Detective for putting in a good word with the DA and IA, I really appreciate it."

"No, thank you DiNozzo. If you hadn't been there I would be dead now."

However, he also had something else to tell me, "Look kid, I'm giving you a heads up OK. You're a good cop and you will do well, but not here. Once some of these assholes know you are," he made a motion with his hand next to his head and whistled, "they will drive you out. I know it sucks and I don't like it but it is the mentality of these small minded cretins."

"I'm not crazy! I passed my psych eval and I declared my OCD. It isn't a problem!"

"I know, I get it, we all have issues of some kind. I know you wouldn't have been passed if it_ had_ been an issue. But some of these guys, including our illustrious leader, aren't so enlightened. Look, there is a rule I have always lived by kid, _Knowledge is Power_. Don't tell people anything unless they absolutely have to know, or you know beyond a shadow a _doubt_ that they are trustworthy. OK."

"Sounds like a sucky way to live to me. What is the point of never trusting anyone?" I asked.

"I never said don't trust_ anyone_, just be careful_ who_ you do trust. I have many, many friends and acquaintances, but I maybe have three people in my life I trust with my life and therefore my secrets. Just keep that in mind OK."

I sighed, defeated, "Yep, I guess. So what am I supposed to do now? The chance of getting a job anywhere in Illinois is shot now. These guys will poison any chance I have."

"Look, let me make a few calls for you, see if I can get a few leads for you. It's the least I can do considering you saved my life yesterday."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

And with that I left to head home, and try _desperately_ to not hand clean my carpet … again.

The next couple of days were hell. My locker was broken into and little 'surprises' left for me each day and someone always managed to bump into me and spill either their lunch, or drink, or in one instance their tube of toothpaste all over my clean uniform. Fan-fucking-tastic!

Now don't get me wrong, not everyone was doing it, only about six of them were the main instigators, but the problem was, my Captain was one of them so there were no repercussions for them and no one was willing to stand up and support me because they may bare the backlash. I had to go and the sooner the better.

Thankfully, Detective Albertoni, was true to his word and he approached me and handed me a slip of paper. "Call this guy, I've given you a wrap and he is looking for good cops but the job is in Philly. That OK?"

I had been moving around so much since I was a teen that the idea of having to move a few states over really didn't phase me at all. In fact it would get me closer to the one friend I _could_ trust, Steve Adler. And my father … but that wasn't really a selling factor.

"Not an issue at all, in fact the further from here the better as far as I am concerned."

He gave me a pat on the back and was on his way.

I called the number straight away and not three days later I was packed and on the road to Pennsylvania. Let's hope Philly would work out better for me.


	28. 28 - Philadelphia

**28 - Philadelphia**

My 18 months in Philadelphia was a good learning curve. It was a much larger population and the crime rate was higher than in Peoria. All in all it was a much busier place to be a law enforcement officer and that suited me fine.

My Captain was great. He not only offered a "good job" or "atta boy" when the time called for it, but he also supported and encouraged my desire to become a detective.

I was also once again used for a few undercover stings both large and small and one of the detectives, Jack Prentice, actually took me under his wing and helped me when he could. I also filled in for a sick colleague and did a six-month stint as a motorcycle patrol officer which was fun. There were lots of car chases but also a lot of traffic violations (necessary but really boring part of police work). All in all I enjoyed my time in Philly, and I was on the fast track to becoming a detective with them as well and would hopefully get my detective shield within 3-4 years.

But in true DiNozzo fashion, the best-laid plans were of course, about to become derailed.

I had been in Philly for over a year and I had actually fallen in love with the city. I was even considering making this my permanent home, meeting a nice girl, having a few kids, picket fence… living the dream really. You see the one thing I have ever really wanted in life, and what took me so damn long to actually find, was a family to love. After being denied that kind of love growing up, I craved it as an adult. Maybe Philly was where I could finally attain my dream.

Anyway, I was out one day on bike patrol when I came across a "damsel in distress" for want of a better term. Her car had a flat tire and she was stranded out of cell phone range. So being the perfect gentleman, and going above and beyond what I am paid to do as a police officer, I changed her tire for her. She thanked me and I was on my way and didn't really think too much more about it. After all I had a date that night with a leggy red head call Yvette, who I had been seeing for a few weeks, and my mind was occupied with ways in which I would be enjoying her company that evening.

Three days later I arrived at the precinct and who should be there but the damsel with the flat. Turns out that her name was Charlotte and she had dropped in some home cooked cookies to thank me for helping her out. I thanked her but told her that it wasn't necessary as I was just doing my job. She also asked if I would like to go out for a coffee some time. Now sadly, Yvette and I had a huge fight two days earlier basically bringing our budding romance to an end, so I was keen to move on so I said yes. In hindsight, this may have been a mistake.

We met after my shift that night at a local coffee shop and the company was pleasant enough and the discussion was OK but not scintillating. Look I am going to be honest here. I was upset that Yvette had dumped me and I was looking for a quick fling to more or less get her out of my system. Charlotte was a reasonably attractive girl (no Yvette but what you going to do), so I suggested we head back to her place and see where the night took us. I don't think I need to spell out to you where it was that it took us do I?

So the next morning I told her I had a great time and that I was just getting over someone so I couldn't see this going any further and I left to go and get ready for work.

A week later I was back together with Yvette and work was going well so I felt really good about my life being on track. I was even considering the possibility that Yvette might one day end up becoming Mrs DiNozzo (but if she wanted to keep her surname that was cool too).

I was out grocery shopping one night when I ran into Charlotte at the supermarket. We exchanged pleasantries and once again I was on my way without a second thought. However, over the next month or so I found that these coincidental meetings were becoming quite common and considering she lived about 30 minutes away from me they seemed a little _too_ common. I had also been having problems with my phone in that I kept getting calls but couldn't hear the person on the other end. So, with a little digging I discovered that the phone calls were in fact all coming from a phone box around the corner from my house.

Now I have had a couple of women in my life become a little… let's call it infatuated… and I have always managed to defuse it quickly with a face to face meeting and a "it's not you it's me" or "you are great but I just need to be happy with myself" or for in the worst case "you are never going to be happy with someone like me". So in this vein I decided to try and meet up with Charlotte and set her straight. Again, in hindsight, this was not a great idea. So I called her and we agreed to meet for coffee at the same shop we met up last time. When I arrived she was dressed immaculately and flew into my arms when she saw me with a, "I'm so glad you called, I knew you would."

OK, this wasn't good. We grabbed a table placed our order and I started with the standard, "it's not you it's me" but this conversation just seemed to wash over her head because she started planning a dinner for us for the next night. Moving on, "you are great but I just need to be happy with myself" which was met with a "don't be silly, you can't be happy on your own, you need someone to_ make _you happy". Hmmm not going to plan. Time for "you are never going to be happy with someone like me" but once again this wasn't working as she gushed about how perfect she thought I was and she could _only_ be happy with me.

Enough with the gentle approach, "Look Charlotte, I'm sorry but this is not going to work. I am seeing someone else now and I am very happy with her. I am flattered that you want a relationship with me but it is _not going to happen_. Am I making myself clear?"

The flash of fury on her face was … well frightening to be perfectly honest. She had the 'crazy eyes' every man inherently knows and fears.

"I'm sorry but if you think that _slut_ Yvette will make you happy then you are seriously mistaken. She is nothing but a whore. You and I have something special and you may not see it now, but it will become clear to you. Mark my words Tony, you _will_ come back to me and we _will _be happy. I am willing to bet my life on it."

OK, there was _so _much wrong with just that little part of conversation that it made the hair on my neck stand up. The most concerning was the fact that she knew Yvette's name and I had _never_ mentioned it to her… _ever._ I had had enough.

"Charlotte, I am telling you now, stay away from me, stay away from Yvette. If you keep following me, or calling me I will get a restraining order. Don't make me do that OK." And I left refusing to look back just in case those crazy eyes were glowing demonically.

I decided to call around to Yvette's because I had to make sure she was safe and I had to confess to her my dalliance with Charlotte whilst we were broken up. Needless to say the conversation didn't go well, but by the end of it she agreed that _technically_ I hadn't done anything wrong but in future any fights were to be given a week window of no contact before we could officially move on. I was hopeful though that wouldn't happen. I stayed the night just to make sure Charlotte didn't come around (and for the make up sex).

So for the next two weeks it seemed like my talk had had the desired effect and neither I nor Yvette had seen or heard from Charlotte.

In fact it wasn't until I went to New York to meet my soon to be newest stepmother, Cecelia (we are up to number 4 for those keeping count or playing a drinking game), that I saw Charlotte again. Now I am sure you are all thinking that surely _this_ had to be a coincidence, surely she didn't follow you to _New York_. That would be just plain _crazy_!

I was sitting at the table with Dad and Cecelia filling them in about my life since the last time I had seen Dad (about two years by my calculations) and about Yvette and my job and how I had just finished up a stint on the bikes. The next thing I know is Charlotte walked up, kissed me on the cheek and said, "Sorry I am late honey. Hope you started without me." I was stunned. So was my Dad.

"Junior, you didn't tell me we would be joined by your lady friend. I thought you said Yvette was busy this weekend?" my father said.

"My name is _Charlotte_ and I would appreciate you not mentioning that other woman's name in my presence." And then she sat down next to me as if she had been expected the whole time.

Now the interesting part about this was that I had _just_ finished telling Cecelia and Dad about Charlotte so now that she was sitting right in front of them they didn't know what to do. Considering we were obviously dealing with someone with _serious_ delusions, we decided to continue on with our 'dinner' as if she had been expected all along until I could formulate a plan. Cecelia was beside herself, shooting terrified looks from me to Dad, jumping anytime Charlotte spoke or glanced her way. I knew I would not be able to leave without her following me so it was going to be up to Dad to save the day. Good grief!

"Dad, didn't you say that you needed to go and make that call to Uncle Vinnie before he leaves for Paris?" I suggested, trying to give Dad a reason to slip away and find a cop.

"What are you talking about Junior, I haven't spoken to Vinnie…" I shot him a look that made it perfectly clear that I needed him to _think_ about what he was going to say and plead with him to try and understand what I needed him to do. "… today so I will go and make that call."

Cecelia jumped up too and said, "Oh, let me come and… talk to Vanne…"

"Vinnie!"

"… oh yes Vinnie too!"

And with that they both scarpered off to (hopefully) contact the police.

Charlotte leaned in and rubbed her hand on my thigh and placed her head on my shoulder, "I like your parents, they're nice." OK if I didn't know this girl was crazy already, calling my Dad 'nice' just proved it.

"What are you doing here Charlotte? I thought I made myself clear last time." I removed her hand and pushed her head off my shoulder.

"What do you mean silly! You arranged this lovely get away for the two of us, and our room is lovely by the way. As if I wouldn't come!" She leaned in and whispered in my ear, "and I intend to come all night long," and she started nibbling on my ear lobe.

I didn't know what to do. Do I get up and walk out and hope she didn't come after me with my steak knife? Did I sit here and allow her delusion to continue and pray that my Dad had indeed called the police and wasn't in the bar with Cecelia chatting about what a nut job Charlotte was and saying, "Don't know how Junior's going to get out this one, another drink dear?". I knew though that if the police _did_ turn up then they couldn't do anything but ask her to leave, but if she was causing a disturbance or was deemed dangerous then at least the could lock her up for the night until I could arrange a restraining order.

While I was still going though my options, whilst simultaneously trying to stop Charlotte's hands, tongue and breasts from assaulting my body, Dad walked in followed by two uniform police officers. Oh thank you Dad!

"Ma'am, we have been informed that you are an uninvited guest and as such we are going to have to ask you to leave with us."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I am invited. Tell them Tony!" She turned to me and honestly looked like she had no idea why she would be asked to leave.  
This woman needed some serious help. I actually felt sorry for her but I knew that she had to go.

"Charlotte, you are not welcome here. I have told you before to leave me alone. I'm sorry but you have to leave with these police officers."

Charlotte started screaming at me, "What! How _dare _you! You invite me here and then you do this to me! Are you trying to humiliate me! Oh my God, it was _her _wasn't it! _Yvette_ told you to do this to me. Wait until I get my hands on that _bitch_! I'll _kill_ that fucking whore." That was enough for the police to be able to detain her but that wasn't all Charlotte had.

As one of the uniform officers stepped towards her, she grabbed the bottle of wine we had been enjoying and smashed it against the table. Wine and glass went everywhere and she was left holding the neck of the bottle with the jagged edges. "Don't come near me or I will cut myself. I swear I will do it!" She moved the glass to her wrist intent on doing exactly what she said she would.

The officers stopped, my father was watching with a mixture of embarrassment and amazement, Cecelia was hiding behind him and poking her head out every now and then. Every eye in the restaurant was on our little circus.

I knew I had to defuse the situation before she did something crazy (well crazier!).

"Charlotte, honey, look at me," I talked to her in as calm a voice I could, all my police training kicking in to gear, "you're right, this has been a misunderstanding OK. Give me the bottle and we will sort this all out OK?"

"But you said I'm not welcome, why would you say that?" she asked, tears brimming in her eyes.

I had to come up with a quick answer, "My Dad, he told me to get rid of you."

"Hey!" I heard him exclaim behind me but I ignored his indignation.

"He doesn't realize that we have something special. I shouldn't have listened to him. I'm so sorry, will you please give me the glass and we will just go home OK."

"I don't know what to believe anymore Tony. You say one thing and then you say the complete opposite. Tell me, do you love me? Yes or No?"

"Charlotte, look just give me the bottle and we can talk about it."

She pressed the bottle closer to her wrist, I could see a trickle of blood run down her wrist and onto her palm, "YES OR NO! TELL ME NOW!"

My mind flashed back to my mother in the bath and her slashed wrist. I couldn't face that again, "Yes! Yes I love you, of course I do. Now give me the bottle."

With that she dropped the bottle and flew into my arms, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me all over my face and neck, "I knew you loved me. I knew from the first time we met we were meant to be. Didn't I tell you we were meant to be. I told you that you would come back to me and now you have. We will be so happy you just wait and see Tony. I am going to make you so happy."

The uniform officers nodded their approval and then proceeded to arrest her.

"What are you doing, don't! Tony what are they doing?" she cried bewildered.

"Sorry Charlotte, but you left me no choice. This is for your own good."

As expected the officers confirmed that she would be placed on a 51/50 psychiatric hold and suggested I arrange for a restraining order to be in place as soon as she was released. They lead her away in handcuffs and as she left she looked back over her shoulder and kept saying, "Why Tony? I don't understand why! You said you loved me."

My father walked up and placed his hand on my shoulder, "In future Junior I think it would be best if you don't bring any dates to our dinners." I actually smiled at my fathers (lame) attempt at humor.

The next day I returned to Philly and called a lawyer who had been recommended by my father's attorney. However, the news wasn't that great. Because the incident I was using as proof of stalking happened in New York and not Pennsylvania, I would have to file the restraining order _in _New York, _but _any restraining order filed in New York would not have any power in Pennsylvania. Well that was just terrific. So I was back to square one with a stalker about to be released from a psych ward the next day who knew not only where I lived but also where my girlfriend lived and had threatened to kill her… terrific.

The good news was that because the threat of death was made directly against Yvette, she could arrange for a restraining order for herself locally. At least that made me feel a little better. I called Yvette and we arranged it all straight away with a court hearing in the morning.

I was called by the NYPD and advised that Charlotte was to be released into the care of her parents who had assured them they would make sure she kept her distance and continued with the medication prescribed and make her mandated court appearance.

It was two months later before I would hear from Charlotte again. It started with letters to the precinct stating how sorry she was and how she was felling better and that she stilled loved me. I received one every day. Then they started coming to my home address, and then they started to be slipped under my door. I received one every day for three weeks and then the photos started. Photos of me at work, on the weekend, with Yvette, at Yvette's place, _in Yvette's bed_! OK, I had enough for my own restraining order now!

I contacted my lawyer who made the application and appeared in front a judge the next day who granted the order. She would be served with the order to appear before the judge later that day.

I returned to work feeling a little relieved but also knowing all to well that quite often a restraining order wasn't enough to deter a stalker. I continued on with my shift, working now back in the patrol car with my new partner. Later that night I received a call from dispatch asking us to attend a scene on the other side of town. This was strange as it was well out of our area, and if assistance was needed there were 3 other precincts between that suburb and us.

"Dispatch, are you sure you want car 85 to go? That suburb is three zones away."

"Yes, you have specifically been requested by name DiNozzo."

She then proceeded to provide the address and my blood ran cold. It was Yvette's place. I started the car and broke every road rule to get there. Her house was surrounded and I was informed there was a hostage situation. Charlotte was inside with a gun demanding to see me. I was ready to march in there but the hostage commander was not ready to let me in. He wanted to know how I new the two inside, then wanted to know if I considered Charlotte unstable (_big_ ol' yes to that one) and was she dangerous. I had hoped she wasn't but after what happened in New York I was no longer sure anymore. He was reluctant to let me go but after I promised to put on a vest he agreed to let me in, wired and with backup right outside the door.

I made my way into Yvette's house and down the hall until I was in the lounge room where Yvette was sitting on the couch and Charlotte was pacing backwards and forwards waving her gun while screaming obscenities at Yvette.

"Hey Charlotte," I started. "What are you doing here?" Not the best conversation starter but I was under a bit of stress.

She turned to me and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Tony, I knew you would come. Now I can show you how much I love you." She then proceeded to lift the gun and point it at Yvette. Yvette screamed and scrunched herself up into a ball. She looked like she had been through the ringer. I had to get her out of here.

I took a couple of steps and place myself between Yvette and Charlotte hoping that if she pulled the trigger my vest would be enough to save me.

"Hey you don't want to do that Charlotte. I already know how much you love me. Please give me the gun and lets go back to my place and talk about this."

I reached forward to her but she was having none of it, "NO! It's all her fault. She is the only thing stopping us from being together. I know she has some hold on you and the only way to stop it is to get rid of her. She is a succubus and until she is destroyed you can't see her true self. I know you can't see it now but when she is dead you will understand. She is stopping you from loving me. We are meant to be together Tony, I have known that since the moment we met, and when we made love. I don't want to wait for you anymore Tony, she has to die." She tried to step around me to get a clear shot but again I stepped between them. Charlotte screamed in frustration, "Stop it Tony, she has to die. Get out of the way I don't want to hurt you but I will, I will hurt you to save you Tony." She now pointed the gun at me.

It was at this moment that Yvette made a run for it. I don't know what possessed her to do it but all of a sudden she jumped up and ran towards the hall. Charlotte turned from me and shot three times at her fleeing form. I heard a scream and then SWAT and police came charging in. Charlotte was swarmed and taken down kicking and screaming, her gun kicked away as she fell to the floor. I was surrounded and checked I was OK before being rushed outside.

"Where's Yvette?" I asked. I was lead over to her and was relieved to see that she had been hit only once and it had only grazed her left side below her ribs. I grabbed her and hugged her so grateful that she wasn't seriously hurt.

As we held each other Charlotte was lead out in handcuffs and she screamed at us, "She is evil, she is destroying you. You can't see it but I can Tony. I love you and I will save you." Then she was put in the back of a car and driven away.

I spent that night by Yvette's side in hospital holding her hand and thanking God or the universe or Budda or _whoever_ had been looking out for her tonight. When she was released I drove her home and offered to help her clean up since the crime scene crew had been in and there was fingerprint dust everywhere.

"You know what Tony, I think I just want to be alone right now," she said.

"Oh OK, well I'll call you later and come around with some dinner. You need to rest up incase you pull your stitches."

"I don't think so Tony. Look, this has all just been too much for me. I'm sorry Tony but I just can't do this anymore." Was she breaking up with me?

"Yvette, I know this is been _crazy_, literally and figuratively but once the shock wears off, you'll feel better and we can talkm about it then."

"No Tony, I don't _want_ to talk. I want to go far away and never look back. I'm sorry Tony. I love you but I can't to see you anymore. I know this isn't your fault but I still blame you and that isn't fair on you or me. _This_," she pointed between herself and me, "won't work anymore. I'm sorry."

She reached up and kissed my cheek and then asked me to leave. So I did.

I tried to call her a few times after that but she refused to take my calls. Then she disconnected her phone and moved away. Turns out she wouldn't be Mrs DiNozzo after all.

Charlotte was charged with Attempted Murder and sent to a psychiatric facility to see if she was mentally able to stand trial. And still I received letters from her, I don't know how, or who she was sneaking them out through but I had had enough. Like Yvette I decided it was time to move on from Philly too.

My Captain arranged my transfer to Baltimore PD by pulling a favor with his buddy over there. He also made sure they would still keep me on track for promotion to detective but it might take a bit longer. My Captain and the District Attorney trying Charlotte's case where the only people provided with my forwarding address and contact phone number and they were under strict instructions to give the information to _no one_. In the future my home address and contact numbers would remain closely guarded secrets.

It would take over 12 months before Charlotte was considered mentally capable of standing trial but eventually she was found guilty of Stalking and First Degree Attempted Murder. She was sentenced to 5 years non-parole for the stalking charge and life with the possibility of parole after 20 years for the attempted murder charge. I travelled backwards and forwards between Baltimore and Philly during the trial and while I saw Yvette there we didn't really speak to each other. We also saw each other at the parole hearings when Charlotte had served her minimum 25 years and then we would catch up for coffee and discuss where our lives had taken us over the last quarter of a century.

Charlotte was finally was paroled in 2030 but thankfully I never heard from her ever again.

I also never heard from Yvette either


	29. 29 - Baltimore Pt 1 - Mike Macaluso

**29 – Baltimore Pt 1 - Mike Macaluso**

One of the reasons Baltimore had been so happy to have me was because of my undercover work. The Vice department was always looking for new faces with experience they could use in their operations and I fit that bill perfectly.

It was while I was working on one of these stings a few months in to my new job, that something quite remarkable happened that threw the next 6 months of my life on it's head. I had just finished a meeting with a known arms dealer about placing an order for some sub machine guns (as you do) with his supplier. I entered a local bar where I had agreed to meet up with the detective in charge, Danny Price, but as he wasn't there yet I took a seat at one of the back tables. I had been there for about five minutes when a stunning woman sat down opposite me and asked me if I wanted a drink. As I was now technically off the clock and was just waiting to give an update to my contact I agreed to a light beer.

We were having a pleasant conversation when I noticed Danny walk in and then head to the other end of the room and sit in a table as physically far away from me as possible. I thought it was strange he didn't head straight over to me, but I knew I would only have a minute or two before I had to excuse myself from this exquisite beauty to go and talk to the detective. She must have been able to tell I was about to leave so before I even got a chance she asked me if I wanted to join her for dinner on Saturday night. I (of course) said yes and she gave me her my name and number and I promised to call her tomorrow to discuss our plans. She stood and left via the front door allowing me an amazing view of her incredibly stunning rear and legs. My God she was gorgeous.

I stood and made my way over to Danny who I didn't know overly well but had been working with for a few days now and seemed to get on well. He was dressed as usual in one of his expensive suits and his hair was short and neat as per normal. I on the other hand was in my 'bad boy' persona with longer hair than normal, dyed a darker shade and sporting a bit of scruff on my face.

He looked up at me and said, "Oh. My. God!"

"I know, how hot is she and I have a date with her tomorrow." I raised my arms above my head as if accepting a riotous round of applause.

Danny looked at me incredulously, "You have no idea who that is do you?"

"Hopefully the future Mrs Anthony DiNozzo. Why? Do you know her?"

"That is _Gianna Macaluso_!" I stared at him blankly. "Daughter of Mike Macaluso!" I shook my head with still no idea who he was talking about. "Mike Macaluso is the head of the mafia in Baltimore. She is the _Don's_ daughter!"

I was stunned, "She's a member of the mob? Seriously?"

"We don't think she is involved personally as the Macaluso's are very old school and only the men get involved with the business, but she still lives at home… with Daddy."

"So I should cancel the date then. Damn she was hot."

"Don't do anything just yet. I need to make a call. What did you tell her about yourself?"

Since my experience with Charlotte, I had learnt to keep my cards very close to my chest and I gave very little information out about myself, going so far as to have a second phone and only giving that number to my dates just in case I needed to disconnect it. "Nothing, told her my name was Tony and I was just waiting to meet a friend here."

"Didn't tell her you were a cop? Your last name? Anything like that?"

"Nope, nothing."

"This could be just the break we have been looking for DiNozzo!" Who ever Danny had been calling must have answered the phone because he bounced up with a "Hey Jack!" and walked outside. I didn't really know what he was up to but my spidey senses were tingling. Something big was about to happen.

He came back in ten minutes later with a grin plastered from ear to ear.

"What?" I asked, suspicious and excited at the same time.

"That was Jack Allen, he works for the FBI in the Organized Crime Division. We have crossed paths a few times when they try to steel our cases. He is going to be here in 15 minutes. He wants to talk to you." Danny grinned like the Cheshire Cat and wouldn't tell me another thing only answering my questions with, "just wait," or "you'll see."

I was getting frustrated when a man in a dark suit walked in and made his way over to us. He extended his hand to Danny and then looked at me, "This him?"

"Yep."

"How do you know Gianna Macaluso?"

I looked between he and Danny. He looked as if he was about to interrogate me while Danny sat back with his arms crossed looking smug.

"I don't. She just came up to me and asked if I wanted a drink."

"Have you ever seen her before? Maybe out and about, a friend of a friend, anything like that?"

I shook my head, "Nope and trust me I would remember having seen _her_ around."

"So you believe this to be a completely random meeting?"

I shrugged, "I think so. What is going on?"

"How much experience have you had with undercover work?"

I proceeded to tell him about my work for the last 3 and half years that I have been employed in Peoria and Philadelphia. Danny pitched in with his appraisal of my work so far, both as a uniform officer when I had managed to bust an illegal phone racket by the Russian mob within a month of starting in Baltimore, and in my undercover work with the Vice squad.

"You want to be a detective?"

I looked at Danny and back to Jack. "Yep."

"Well, you do a little job for us and I can guarantee you will have a gold badge by the end of the year."

I raise a suspicious eyebrow. A detective shield after only being in uniform for 4 and a half years was unheard of. Even if I was on the fast track, "Are you trying to bribe me?" I asked.

Danny and Jack laughed at me, "Don't be ridiculous! No what we are asking is for you to go undercover… _deep_ undercover. Is that something you think you could do?"

I was stunned; I didn't really know what to say. I had done a few stints where I had to be put up in a hotel for a few days but a deep sting was different. That was getting a whole new identity, new place to live, no contact with any family or friends, and it could last for weeks or months. In some cases even years. This was huge! And I wanted in!

"What do you need me to do?" I asked.

The next 48 hours were a whirlwind as we tried to get everything sorted before my date with Gianna in two days time. My Captain had agreed to a joint operation between the FBI and Baltimore PD with Jack and Danny alternating as my contacts. I was taken to the FBI headquarters and given a crash course on the Macaluso Family but I asked them to not give me too much information, I didn't want to make the mistake of saying something to Gianna I shouldn't know and therefore blowing the whole operation. Jack agreed this was probably a good idea since I was going in as someone not involved with the family. What they needed to know was _where_ was Macaluso's money and who was laundering it, who were his suppliers and proof of illegal activities by him.

I was giving a new persona, which I had to know backwards and forwards. From this moment until I was pulled from the assignment I _was _Tony Campese. My mask was on and I would not allow it to slip off. My life depended on it.

We decided to stick with the basics I had in place for the illegal fire arms deal just in case she happened to be at the bar because of that link. I was also given the keys to an apartment, which was to be mine, and a black 1995 Mustang Cobra Convertible. Turns out Tony Campese makes a nice little living out of his illegal gun sales and it just so happens that Mike Macaluso was a big Mustang fan. What a coincidence! By the time I was finished with the FBI I had less than 5 hours to try and get some sleep and get ready for my date.

We had arranged to meet at the restaurant although Jack had tried to get me to talk her into picking her up at her house, but she was insistent that we meet there so it looked like a meeting with Daddy would not be happening that night. When I saw her I went weak at the knees. This woman was one of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen in my life. She had large chocolate brown eyes, long flowing wavy brown hair, a body that was curvy rather than skinny and legs… her legs went on forever.

We took our seat at our table and as the evening progressed I discovered that not only was she the most beautiful woman I have ever had the privilege to date but she was also the most racist, homophobic and reprehensible human being as well. How I managed to not only keep a straight face but also agree with her on most of her bigoted remarks was testament to how good I was at undercover work. She asked if she could come home with me which, had this been a normal date, I might have agreed to because there is _no way in hell_ I would ever date someone like that again but I would have been disappointed to have not slept with her (hey I'm a man, and this is how we think). However, I declined instead telling her I wanted to get to know her better and that I really thought we had chance at this being 'the real thing' and all those things women want to hear from a man.

By the end of the evening I was dying to get home to have a shower just to wash away her close mindedness that clung to me like a toxic sludge.

Now there are three stages to an undercover op and the first is the boring part. You usually are living alone and have no contact with anyone while waiting around for the next thing to happen, in this case a date with a horrible human being I was trying desperately to pretend to like.

This went on for about three weeks where we would see each other a couple of times a week. After the fifth date I knew I couldn't put it off any longer and we slept together. The sex was… interesting. She was a little kinky, extremely vocal, and very experimental… not my thing but apparently Tony Campese was into it, lucky for her. So now I was in a full-blown relationship with a gorgeous, kinky and repulsive woman who both turned me on and disgusted me simultaneously. Ah the glamorous world of undercover work.

However, after eight weeks it was time to meet the family. This is what we had been waiting for, a face to face with Mike Macaluso. I arrived at their home dressed in an expensive suit courtesy of the FBI, something I really wasn't used to wearing, with a bunch of flowers for Gianna and a bottle of Maccallan 18 for Mr Macaluso.

Joining us for dinner was Gianna's mother, Claudia, and her three brothers, Mike Jr, David and Giovani, and their respective wives and girlfriends. Dinner was pleasant enough and as it turned out they were _all _racist, sexist and homophobic. Tony Campese fit in just fine. After dinner I was asked to join the men in the study while the women cleaned up, and it was here that I was given the full Macaluso grilling. The three brothers pelted me with questions while Mike sat back and took it all in while smoking a Cuban cigar. I answered them all based on Tony Campese's profile, but threw in a smattering of my own life when his profile fell short. I knew I was being tested and when it came to my 'business dealings' I tried not to divulge too much but just enough to know I was not an upright citizen. I played it calm to start off with but after a while I figured a guy like Tony Campese would get pissed at all the questions and that is when I stood up to leave, "Look, what is with the third degree? I just came here to have a nice meal with my woman and meet her family. I get you are being protective of her but this is getting ridiculous," and I turned towards the door to leave all the while thinking _please call me back, please call me back!_

Finally Mike spoke, "Tony wait!" I wiped the grin from my face and put on a scowl as I turned from the door. "You are right, we were rude, but you know we have to watch out for our women. Some of these guys Gianna has bought back have been less than what we would expect for her. You, however, you are different. I _like_ you. So with that in mind, what are you intentions towards my daughter Mr Campese?"

OK, this was it, make it or break it time. One wrong step here and I could be cast out of Gianna's life (no great loss) and lose our chance at getting any dirt on Mike (a _big_ loss). "Mr Macaluso, I have only been dating your daughter for a couple of months but I have to say, I haven't met anyone like her. I know I am probably not good enough for someone as beautiful as her but if you give me the chance I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying to live up to her standard. I am not embarrassed to say to you that I love your daughter sir, and I hope that in the not to distant future she may agree to marry me. But I know that your blessing needs to be given and I would never expect that from you after only one meeting, but if you give me a chance and get to know me I am sure you will find me more than capable of looking after her and will give me that blessing when you are ready."

Now I mentioned there are three parts to an undercover assignment, and part two was about to unfold. This is the part where you are living and breathing your new persona 24 hours a day. You live in fear of making a slip up and being made, worried someone you know will see you out in the street and blow your cover, paranoia sets in where you are questioning every little comment made wondering if that was a hint of suspicion or a covert signal to have you 'dealt with'. Adrenalin courses through your body non-stop and sleep becomes a distant memory. Well this phase was about to begin and it would last two and a half months.

For the next month I would join Mike a couple of times a week for either a game of golf, a game of poker or just a drink at his favorite bar as well as join the regular Sunday family lunch which included all the aunts and uncles. I managed to win favor with Nona Nicola, Mike's mother, with my fluent Italian as none of the younger Macaluso's had bothered to learn it, and Mike was stilted at best. Gianna and I practically lived together at my apartment, and while we weren't _officially_ living together this seemed quite acceptable to Mike.

After the first month Mike asked me to join him and Mike Jr at one of their business meetings. Now the Macaluso's had many branches of business endeavors and one of these was supplying Baltimore with Cocaine from their Columbian connections. This is the meeting I was to attend.

Now three interesting things happened at this meeting. The first was that Mike introduced me as his future son in law and then proceeded to give me a wink. Looks like Tony Campese was about to get engaged.

The second was that I was told to join Mike Jr and Carlos the Columbian in testing their latest wares. I tried to beg off, "Thanks Mike but I don't really do drugs. Guns are more my specialty," but he would have none of it.

"Tony, if you are going to join this family, you need to know the difference between being asked something and being _told _something. I did not ask." He handed over a rolled bank note now that Mike Jr was finished with it. I didn't have a choice so for the first time in over 15 years I took a couple of snorts of Coke. The hit was instant and the memories of my misspent youth came flooding back. I felt simultaneously amazing and terrified. I was euphoric from the high but I was also scared that I would say something under the influence that could potentially blow my cover. The paranoia was starting to set in, so even through my body was throbbing to get up and move and my mind was wanting me to talk about anything and everything, I kept my mouth shut tight. So tight, in fact, that when Mike Jr looked over at me I was actually holding my lips together with my fingers. Apparently Mike Jr found this hilarious and started to giggle and point at me. Thankfully Mike Sr had enough sense about him to continue negotiations with Carlos.

Sadly those negotiations did not go well. Now I don't know exactly what happened because I was finding it hard to listen with my lips being held tight, so when Mike pulled a gun and put a bullet between the eyes of Carlos I was surprised. Mike Jr also stopped his infernal giggling but when he looked wide eyed over at me and saw me standing over the body still holding my lips together he once again started laughing. Mike looked over at the two of us, shook his head and said, "Get rid of him," and walked away.

About an hour later, once Mike Jr was down from his high and my desire to hold my lips had passed, we did some brotherly bonding over the disposal of a dead body. It wasn't anything fancy, just the standard river dump with weights to hold it down. Apparently no one was too fond of Carlos and the meeting had been set up between Mike and Carlos's boss as a way of getting rid of him. Now they owed Mike a favor. That was the way it worked. And it was also the first illegal action I had seen Mike do (and it was a doozy).

I needed to talk to either Danny or Jack about this but I didn't want to run straight to our meeting point. I was worried that this whole meeting had been a set up to see if I was who I was, so running off to the cops was the worse thing I could do. I would have to wait a few days. Instead I made my way home and fell into bed beside the woman I loathed and allowed her to let me forget for a few moments the events of the evening in her own inventive way.

Eventually I met up with Jack and told him what had happened and where they could find the body of Carlos, I was expecting the op to come to an end now that I had witnessed Mike commit murder, however that wasn't about to happen. They were worried that even though I was a witness that; a, I was high at the time of the murder, b, without the weapon they couldn't link Mike to the murder convincingly, and c, that it was too easy for him to get off with a 'self-defense' excuse without solid proof. They needed proof of illegal activities through financial records, photographs, videos or audio recordings, anything that couldn't be overturned by their top dollar lawyers. I was staying in until I found out where this was.

Just before I left the meeting I told Jack that it looked like Mike had approved me to ask Gianna to marry me so we needed to arrange a ring. He said he would have one delivered to me when they purchased it.

I received the ring within the week by courier and there was a note from Jack saying, _What ever you do, get the ring back when this is over. $15,000 and it's coming out of my budget!_ I couldn't help but smile because the chance of me getting this back at the end was slim to none. Jack's budget was going to take a hit.

So, when Saturday night rolled around I told Gianna to dress up (which for her usually meant wearing as little as possible) because I was taking her somewhere special. I booked a table at the most expensive restaurant in town which even through it was booked solid for Tony Campese, somehow managed to find their best table for the daughter of Mike Macaluso. The proposal was cheesy and showy, everything I hated but my false persona and Gianna found irresistible. I slipped on the ring and Gianna kissed me in a way that was barely legal in a public place while the patrons of the restaurant clapped their hands (whilst simultaneously rolling their eyes no doubt) and our meal was comped. I was, after all, about to marry into the most influential and dangerous family in all of Baltimore. Tony Campese was the vision of the happiest man on earth (I however was starting to develop an ulcer).

After a night of passionate and quite often painful lovemaking we went to the family lunch and announced to everyone our engagement. Mike stepped towards me and from the expression on his face I wasn't sure if he was about to kill me. Had I misread his approval? Had I jumped the gun? Was I about to _get_ the gun? What he did however was grab me around the shoulders and announce to everyone, "Welcome to the family Tony!" He then hugged me and kissed me on each cheek while saying quietly for my ears only _"I like you but if you hurt my little girl you will be sleeping next to Carlos, capice?"_

I knew first hand this was no idol threat. "Your daughter will be looked after, you have my word." This seemed to satisfy Mike as he then stepped back as I was surrounded by the rest of the family and hugged and kissed. All this physical contact was making me very uneasy but I had to grin and bare it, after all it was Tony Campese being crushed with affection, not Tony DiNozzo.

Gianna was whisked away by the women folk to start planning the wedding. We had already decided the night before on a date, which was still some ten months away. Apparently you needed at least that long to plan a wedding and the truth was if I were still here in ten months time I would probably put a bullet in my_ own_ head.

The next couple of weeks went quickly between sorting out wedding venues with Gianna and her mother, and attending meetings with Mike and his sons now that I was truly going to be part of the family. It was after one such meeting that I was invited back to Mike's office, which was located at the end of an alleyway in the basement of one of his various warehouses. It was here that I finally managed to see for the first time my target. In his office, behind the desk and behind a false panel was a safe. In that safe was every scrap of proof I needed to take him down. There was correspondence, account numbers and locations, photographs, lists of suppliers and distributors of his drugs and money laundering affiliates and most importantly a murder weapon, _the_ murder weapon, the one he killed Carlos with. There was one problem.

I didn't know the combination of the safe, I didn't know how to open the hidden panel that hid the safe and the room was locked tight and guarded when Mike wasn't in it. Ok I had three problems but I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It was time to move into the third part of the undercover op. The most dangerous part, the end game.

I needed to make contact with Danny or Jack and tell them what I had discovered and work out a plan to go forward. Again the main problem was that even through I was present when the murder went down, because I was under the influence of an illegal substance, my testimony could be thrown out. Even with the murder weapon there was still the 'self defense' defense and Mike might even throw Mike Jr under the bus if it mean saving his own ass. It was time to get wired up and get Mike on record admitting to the murder. Once we had that we would simultaneously serve a warrant on Mike's office and arrest him for the murder of Carlos Rojas and take down the Macaluso Family once and for all. We came up with an idea that would allow me to bring up the murder without it seeming forced and suspicious. As I say, when undercover you are constantly wondering if you have been made, and now that I was wearing a wire every time I was face to face with Mike the paranoia was becoming overwhelming.

For the next two weeks I continued on as normal. Living with the sexily repulsive Gianna, family dinners and business meetings with Mike but none of these allowed for the discussion of murder to be raised. That opportunity would come at our engagement party.

The night of the party arrived and it was being held at the Macaluso home in the spacious back yard. No expense was spared for his little girl. Like my 'fiancé' the party was both elegant and garish. We moved from guest to guest retelling the story of how we met, how I proposed, when we were getting married and when we would start a family. Inwardly I shuddered every time I though about her breeding and bringing forth another generation of gay hating, racial vilifying, and chauvinistic generation, outwardly I looked like I was willing to start the process right there and then. After the official part of the evening was over, and the speeches given I asked Mike if I could talk to him privately in his study.

This was it; this was the moment. If this worked this would be over tonight, in a few minutes actually. I had the FBI and SWAT listening in and waiting for the green light. All I had to do was get Mike to confirm he pulled the trigger on Carlos and they would swarm and he would be taken down, as would his sons and nephews, brothers and every other male of the family. The women would be taken in too but whether any charges would be laid would depend on what was found in the office.

"What can I do for you Tony?" Mike asked as he walked over and poured us both a scotch, "Not getting cold feet already are you?"

"No, nothing like that Mike. I was actually wanting to give you something." I walked over and picked up a timber box I had placed in here earlier before the party started. "This is just a little something I wanted to give you as a thank you for everything you have done for me."

I handed him the box and waited as he opened it. Inside was a Beretta M9 handgun with custom mother of pearl handgrips.

"Tony, I don't know what to say. It's beautiful."

"What can I say, as an arms dealer I just thought you needed something with a little more power than that pissy .22 you used the other night," trying to lead him to a confession. "Bullet didn't even make it out the other side of his head."

It came easier than I had ever hoped for, "Ah well Carlos has always had a thick head. Greasy piece of work he was. You know he actually had the audacity to ask me if he could go out with Gianna, well your Gianna now. As if I would let one of those spic touch my Gianna. I don't know what would be worse on of them or a god damn ni**er. I must admit, I didn't mind pulling the trigger on him. Mind you if I had had this beauty I would have had the pleasure of seeing the back of his skull splatter on the wall. Oh well, maybe for my next one hey." He clapped me on the back mistaking the reason behind my smile. "Thank you son, this will be a treasured gift."

By now we could hear noises and even screams coming from the party. "What the hell is that," Mike asked as he threw open the study door and made his way out what was left of the party. I followed at a more leisurely pace behind him. Before him was a sea of armed SWAT and FBI agents arresting members of his family and stopping anyone from fleeing the scene. Mike stood dumbfounded as Jack Allen approached him. "What do you think you are doing here?"

Jack looked over his shoulder at me, "Want to do the honors Tony?"

Mike turned to look at me and instantly saw my badge and cuffs, which I had produced from my jacket pocket, "Michael Antonio Macaluso, you are under arrest for the murder of Carlos Rojas. You have the right to remain silent…" I continued to read his rights as I slapped on his cuffs and lead him past the partygoers and into the waiting police cruiser.

I walked past Gianna who was also in cuffs and when I asked, "Any chance I could get that ring back?" I only just managed to avoid being spat on. Sorry Jack, I tried.

"You fucking piece of shit. Can't believe is slept with a cop. Hope I am not pregnant and have your piggy babies you asshole." When were people going to realize that being called a 'pig' as a cop was really not upsetting at all? Pigs could be kind of cute actually.

Once they were gone Danny walked up and clapped me on the back. "Good job DiNozzo. We've got it from here, go home."

I couldn't wait to go home and drop the mask of Tony Campese once and for all and try to scrub my mind clear of Gianna and everything I did with her. As much as I loved going undercover, I prayed that I was never forced to go undercover as someone's boyfriend _ever again_.


	30. 30 - Baltimore Pt 2 - Wendy Pt 2

**AN: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews and the follows and favorites. I know I say this a lot but they really do get the creative juices flowing, makes me feel like people are actually enjoying it rather than just going meh. Hope you enjoy this chapter and FYI the next chapter is meeting LJG!**

**30 – Baltimore Pt 2 – (or Wendy Pt 2) **

Six months after finishing with the Macaluso sting I was handed my detective shield. I aced my detective's exam and was asked to join Homicide, making me the youngest homicide detective in Baltimore PD history, with Danny Price as my partner. My meteoric rise in the ranks was both respected and despised equally by my colleagues (despised mainly by those that had been passed over for detective), however, regardless of their feelings, no one could not deny the fact that the largest crime family in Baltimore was in tatters thanks to me.

I loved the detective work and I was enjoying working with Danny. We worked well together and got on great due to the fact we had very similar lives growing up, even if he was a little pretentious with all those damn suits he wore.

It was while we were working on one of our cases that I ran into an old flame. We were trying to get a meth dealer off the streets because he made the mistake of selling to school kids. Something both Danny and I hated, me for obvious reasons (which I chose not to disclose) and Danny because he had a brother who got hooked on drugs at high school. So we were at the Baltimore Western High School, a school in one of the more affluent suburbs and a school with a higher than average drug use issue, and had just finished off a few interviews when I passed the vacant music room. Danny was busy talking on the phone so I told him I would catch up and walked into the room. What had caught my eye was a beautiful Steinway Grand Piano. It was so much like my mother's that I was instantly transported back to my childhood. It even smelt the same.

I hadn't touched a piano in years as I didn't have any spare money to purchase one (not of the standard I desired anyway), and my single room studio apartment (and I use that term loosely) only just fit my single bed, TV and a table to eat at so finding space for a piano was unlikely (unless I wanted to sleep under it and the though_ had_ crossed my mind). I quickly looked around the room to make sure I was alone and sat down at the beautiful instrument.

I hit a few keys just to hear the sound closing my eyes as I listened to the perfect notes resonate. I then tapped out a quick little single hand exercise piece I used to use to warm up. Before long I was lost in the music. I may not have touched a piano in years but within minutes I was playing as if I only played it yesterday. I forgot how much I loved this instrument. I was just finishing off one of my favorite pieces when I heard a woman say, "You still play beautifully cadet."

I stopped. I knew that voice. It was etched into my subconscious for all eternity. I slowly turned in the seat and looked up at that beautiful face I hadn't seen in over a decade.

"Miss Miller, it's been a while." Visions of our night together flashed through my mind. God she was still beautiful!

She laughed lightly, "Miss Miller? How very formal. I'm not your teacher anymore Tony, you can call me Wendy."

"I like Miss Miller, takes me back to being a naughty school boy," I smiled at her.

"From what I remember you were a _very_ naughty school boy," she said looking fondly at me.

"You weren't exactly the epitome of a respectable teacher if my memory serves me right," I said with a smirk but as soon as I said it I regretted it. Her smile faded and a frown crossed her lovely features.

"No I wasn't. What I did was wrong Tony. I should never have treated you that way, I was young and stupid and …" she trailed off, tears welling in her eyes.

"Hey, no it's OK. Look, I'm fine! Please Wendy, don't cry. I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have bought it up. I'm sorry."

"No! I'm sorry. I was the adult in that situation and I crossed a line that should _never_ have been crossed. I have never forgotten that night and I never thought I would get the chance to apologize to you so from the bottom of my heart I am so very sorry."

I understood why she felt the need to apologize, and I also knew that me telling her it wasn't necessary wasn't what she needed to hear right now, so I nodded and said, "Apology accepted, not necessary but accepted."

I could see the relief in her eyes, this was obviously something she had carried with her for years and giving her the opportunity to apologize lifted a weight off her shoulders that had been holding her down. "Thank you."

It was at this moment that Danny tracked me down and stuck his head in the door, "DiNozzo we have to roll… well hello there," he spied Wendy and walked all the way into the room straightening his tie and smoothing his hair. "Detective Danny Price, _senior_ detective on this case, and you are?" He held out a hand to Wendy.

She looked up at me and mouthed the word _detective_? I rolled my eyes and felt a blush hit my cheeks. Smiling she gave her hand to Danny, "Wendy Miller, nice to meet you detective."

"The pleasure is all mine I assure you," he said with his most charming smile. I was so used to seeing this song and dance act that I could not stand watching it performed with Wendy.

"Danny you said we had to roll," I said trying to forestall the inevitable.

"What, huh, oh yeah, Captain wants us back at the station but if Wendy, can I call you Wendy?" she nodded her ascent, "If Wendy here has something pertinent to the case then it would be remiss of me not to discuss it with her, maybe over a coffee?"

Wendy tried to hold back her smirk as I once again rolled my eyes and shook my head, "No I was actually just catching up with Detective DiNozzo here. We go way back." She gave me a wink over his shoulder.

"Oh, really," I could see the proverbial crest fall, "well… I apologize for interrupting but we really must be getting back," Danny knew a rejection when he saw one (he saw a lot). He grabbed me by the arm, "Come on DiNozzo."

I removed his hand from my arm and said, "I will be out in a minute Danny," clearly dismissing him from our conversation. He moved towards the door but didn't walk out completely.

"Sorry about that but we really do have to get going. The Captain doesn't like to be kept waiting. It was great seeing you again Wendy."

"And you Tony, sorry _Detective_ DiNozzo," she leant in and gave me a kiss on the cheek and allowed her hand to linger on my other one for a little longer than would be considered polite between platonic friends.

I turned and walked away with Danny close behind just itching to know what that was about but at least having the decency to wait until we got in the car. Just as we reached the car however I heard Wendy calling me back.

I told Danny to wait here and I walked back the ten yards or so to talk to her again, "Is everything OK?" I asked.

"Will you go out with me, I mean like really go out, on a date, with me? I know we probably shouldn't but… Forget it, it's a bad idea, forget I asked," her blush was so adorable.

"I would love to go out with you, on a real date," I told her. She gave me her number and I promised I would call her to arrange something for this weekend.

I swaggered back to the car and as soon as Danny saw my expression he knew what had just happened, "Oh man! I hate being your partner, my success rate has plummeted since I partnered up with you, geez!"

As promised I called Wendy (that night actually, call me eager) and we made arrangements to go out for dinner on Saturday night. I don't think I had ever been this nervous about a date, before or since. This was _Wendy_. This was my first love, the woman who both broke my heart and made it sing. The woman I had compared everyone other woman too. The one!

The date was amazing, perfect. We laughed, we danced, we talked, we kissed and we made love. Usually if I am really interested in someone, I don't tend to sleep with them straight away, but with Wendy, I didn't want to wait any longer. It had already been over thirteen years since I had last seen her and I didn't want to wait another day.

Afterwards I asked her why she left, I didn't know if someone found out, if I was wrong about how we felt about each other. She assured me it was none of those things. It simply came down to the fact that she was a teacher and I was a student and the feelings she had were wrong and dangerous, for both of us. She knew we would not wait the three and a half months to be together again, and even if we did manage it as soon as we got together after graduation people would know. So she left, to protect us both. She was the adult so it was her responsibility. That is why she didn't leave a note or contact me again, to protect me. A clean break is easier to deal with than the continuous "what ifs" a confession of love would have caused me (even more that the "what ifs" her unexplained disappearance did cause me).

We fell in love that night. We were together every opportunity we could be and we moved in together after only four months of dating (thank god I could finally ditch that hated twin bed I had had since college). Danny thought I was crazy, rushing in too fast but I knew what I wanted and I wanted Wendy.

Now I am not going to say that everything was blue birds and roses, it wasn't. I mean, I had a lot of issues when it came to shared accommodation. I know _technically_ I lived with Gianna while undercover, but in my mind Tony Campese lived with her,_ not_ Tony DiNozzo. And Tony DiNozzo had a few issues, not the lease of which was my OCD and physical intimacy issues (non sexual of course). We had fights, I mean, Wendy was a strong woman, maybe not physically but emotionally she knew what she wanted and she went for it… I loved strong women. I needed strong women. I needed them to zig when I zagged, if I threw something to them they had to hit it right back at me, I needed the _pah!_, that indefinable _something_ that kept me coming back for more. Every woman I loved had the _pah!_ and Wendy had it in spades. Besides, make up sex made the whole fight seem worth it. She was also the first person I ever told the whole story about my mother too. I cried, she held me and we never spoke of it again, but it helped her understand me, and my quirks that little bit better. I often wondered if my desire to be with such head strong and opinionated woman was due to my mother and how weak I felt she was. Maybe I thought as strong woman wouldn't leave me the way a weak one would (how wrong I was on that count!).

It was at my grandfather's funeral that I decided I had to propose to her. I know it seems a bit strange being at such a somber affair and deciding to marry someone but to me it just made sense. My Nonna and Papa had been so happy together, and after Nonna May died my Papa Dante just never seemed to recover. It was like he had lost his _pah!_ I never wanted to lose mine. Besides, my father and her did not get on, and that kind of made me want her even more. It was like I would have someone on my side, always there to stand up with me. I'd never had that before.

We remained in Long Island the following day staying for the reading of the will. Not surprisingly the private estate was to be split five ways between my father and his four siblings with my father being given control of the business and investment side of the family fortune (probably a mistake on my grandfather's part). Turns out my grandfather bequeathed to me, and each of the grandchildren, one thousand shares in a company. Now I have always told people the story of my 'inheritance' from my grandfather of these shares not six months before the bubble burst and I have always had them laugh and say that I was bad luck, but what I have always omitted to tell them was that the company my grandfather had the shares in… was . I would eventually sell the stock in 2013 for over $375 per share. I reinvested two hundred and fifty thousand of this money back into shares and even through there were a few ups and downs, today my share portfolio is worth over $4.6 million. Thank you Papa Dante!

When we returned to Baltimore the first thing I did was go out and buy a ring for Wendy. It took three months to pay off but I finally picked it up on the Friday and proposed on the Saturday. It wasn't showy, we were at home and I had cooked a lovely meal and after desert I asked her, "Will you marry me?" Simple, to the point and considering she said "yes," perfect!

Work was great; Danny and I had broken some pretty big cases. My home and love life was perfect; Wendy and I were happy and looking at a future together. My health and fitness were as close to if not better than it had ever been since college.

Life could not get any better!

Within two weeks my job would be gone, I would be moving to another city and Wendy would be pissed off!


	31. 31 - Baltimore Pt 3 - AKA Leroy Jethro G

**AN: Well finally we are up to having Gibbs join the story. I can't say I am particularly happy with this chapter but it was hard considering the entire premise has already played out on screen. Anyway I hope you enjoy it, sorry it is just a short one. As usual, love to hear your thoughts on everything.**

**Cheers.**

**31 – Baltimore Pt 3 – AKA Leroy Jethro Gibbs!**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs! What can I say about him. Gibbs has been the single greatest influence in my live, both personally and professionally, all without speaking more than ten words at any one time. He has been a boss, a father, a brother, my antagonizer, a frustration, my support, my rock, my confidence booster, my ego checker and most importantly my friend.

We met in 2001 and he is still in my life today… much to both of our other friend's amazement and amusement.

We met while I was working a homicide case in Baltimore. My final case as it would turn out. I tackled him, he punched me, I pulled a gun on him… standard man meets man scenario.

Gibbs was working undercover on a case involving money-laundering for NCIS. It just so happens that we were working on a homicide case where the main suspect at the time was involved with the same money-laundering scheme NCIS was investigating. So Gibbs went in as someone trying to move some cash and was trying to get close to the king pin and had put himself in a position where he would be arrested to help build his "street cred". Now to this day, I will swear black and blue that I caught him fair and square, I was after all, wearing tube socks. However, Gibbs will tell anyone who listens that he _let_ me catch him. _Let_ _me_! Ha, like he had a choice, but that is beside the point (but I caught him).

So we took him back to the station and discovered that he was actually a "Navy Cop" as I liked to call him and that he had played us … I hate being played. Now I don't know why but I liked him, straight away. He was quiet, kind of cocky, devious without a doubt, but there was something about him that had me intrigued. Maybe it was his name … I mean a white guy called Leroy Jethro… seriously! But I liked him and so did Danny and this could explain why he managed to get us to do his dirty work and end up staking out _his_ money laundering case… I mean sure it was connected to our murder but I didn't see his ass sitting in our freezing cold surveillance van next to ours. Damn feds!

However, I must admit he did come through in the end with the name and ballistics evidence required to make the arrest, and he allowed us to take the collar rather than taking it for himself because of the money laundering connection. _Very_ un-Fed like in my experience.

But something was bugging me. It was during the arrest of Lt Floyd that something felt off but I couldn't quite put my finger on it; or more like I didn't_ want_ to put my finger on it. That thing that bugged me was a look between Floyd and Danny, a look that spoke volumes more than their mouths could. Danny was in on the laundering, passing on Floyds name to possible clients and getting a kick back if they went ahead with the job. He was a dirty cop; my_ friend_ was a dirty cop. Once again I put my trust in someone only to have him betray it.

I went to Danny to confront him but I just couldn't arrest him. And that is when Gibbs turned up. He had also suspected Danny but couldn't prove it yet. So Gibbs stepped back and allowed _me_ make the decision on what to do. He was my partner and my friend. My decision was to walk away. I walked away, from him, from my career and from Baltimore.

Gibbs called me up a few days later and asked me to drop in to NCIS to finish of some "unfinished business" he called it. Hell I wasn't employed anymore and Wendy was being very vocal about her displeasure at me quitting my job with a wedding to plan and pay for (considering the bulk of my savings had just been spent on the engagement ring) so I thought a nice little trip to Washington DC would do me good. Turns out it was the best decision I have ever made.

He asked me what happened with Danny so I told him I had let it go, quit work, would probably quit being a cop and you know what he did… He _hit me on the back of the head!_ I mean _come on!_ I was a grown ass man and he smacked me on the head. My first reaction was to be pissed, I mean I was instantly transported back to being a child and having my dad smack me around but this … it felt different, almost loving in a Gibbsian sort of way. Gibbs later explained that a slap to the face was an insult, but on the back of the head it's a wake up call. This was my first wake up call (and their would be many, many, many… many more). He then patted me on the cheek, a gesture I was definitely not used to, and he pointed at the door to behind me for Agent Applications. He told me he didn't have many rules (a lie!) but one of them was 'You don't waste good' and he thought I was good. As he walked away he said, "boy I got vision and the rest of the world is wearing bifocals." What can I say, the man quoted Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, one of my all time favorite movies. If I had been considering walking away, then he won me back with that quote. Like I said … _devious._

I don't think I ever really told anyone that story, about how I was hand picked by Gibbs. I remember my old partner Kate asking me once when she was being particularly annoyed by my outwardly obnoxious behavior, "how did you ever got this job," and I told her, "I smiled."

While my smile may not have gotten me the job, it _did_ get my application moved up the list by the lovely HR lady. I was quickly approved and was in the next intake for training at FLETC.


	32. 32 - 911

**AN: While I am not from the US, this day sent shock waves around the world. Even here in Australia I can remember _exactly_where I was and what I was doing when this happened. In fact I was sitting on my couch watching The West Wing when a "Breaking News" ticker came across the bottom of the screen. I turned over to the news station and watched and it was well after 3am before I finally got to bed. I hope you are all OK with me putting this in here.**

**32 – 9/11**

Where were you on 9/11?

It is a question asked and one answered with more clarity and detail than any other question. This date is so ingrained in our mind that never do we ask, "what year?" We know what year, we know what time, we know every little detail. The memory is indelible.

I was in Washington DC. I was half way through my 15 week training at FLETC in Georgia and our intake group of 15 were in Washington DC on a tour of some of the federal agencies and training areas. On the Monday we had actually had a tour of the Quantico FBI training facility in Virginia and the Pentagon. We were to tour some of the Federal Agencies in Washington that day before heading back to Georgia tomorrow. We had just arrived at the Navy Yard and NCIS, which was our first stop before heading off to the Secret Service and ATF headquarters, when news reached us of the plane going into the World Trade Centre. We were of course stunned. We had gotten off the bus and were standing around outside trying to call loved ones, trying to get information, just trying to make sense what was happening when we heard it.

It was the sound of a plane, which in itself isn't unusual, but what _was_ unusual was how loud it was getting, and then we saw it. It flew directly over us, blocking out the sun as it went, flying way to fast and way to low. My first thought… Why isn't the landing gear down? At 9:37 am that plane hit the Pentagon. We could see the smoke rise over the Potomac and then all hell broke lose.

It was complete panic. People in the street were either crying hysterically or just staring blankly. NCIS agents locked down the NCIS building and Navy personnel, police officers and emergency service vehicles were going left right and center securing all entrances to the yard. Like I say, it was complete panic. Now that we couldn't get into the building we had nowhere to go and we were eventually loaded onto our bus and driven back to our hotel. We all crowded into one of the rooms and watched the unbelievable coverage on ZNN taking comfort in the presence of other people.

I tried to call Gibbs to see if there was anything I could do to help but he was of course busy in MTAC and without a badge, a gun or any authority what so ever I would have just been in the way.

I spent the rest of the day trying to contact my father who was living in Manhattan not too far from the World Trade Center. It was two days later before I could get on to him. My father and I had certainly had our issues but the relief I felt at hearing his voice was immeasurable. He had actually been in Boston during the attack, but all communication in that area had been blocked as people tried desperately to contact loved one. His accountant, who he had seen just the day before, had been in his office on the 36th floor of the north tower and he didn't survive. Dad had known him for over 30 years. He had attended more of Dad's weddings than I did.

I also lost a cousin in the attack. Maria, my Aunt Agnita's youngest daughter died that day. She was visiting her fiancé who worked in the south tower. They were due to be married in two weeks time. She was also 6 months pregnant with their first child.

Remember me telling you about my first day at Rhode Island and Steve told me not to take the bed next to Barneby because he walked in his sleep? Well he had joined the NYFD and was one of the first responders. He died too.

I called Wendy that evening and she was in shock. All I wanted to do was go home and hold her tight but even if we were allowed to leave that night, the roads were a mess. The next morning they decided to cancel the rest of the tour of Washington and we were given the rest of the week off, so those of us that could go home did. I didn't bother going back to Georgia on the bus, but instead went to NCIS, begged Gibbs for his car and drove straight home to Baltimore and to Wendy.

We stayed at each other's side until I had to return to FLETC on the Sunday.

I returned Gibbs car to NCIS and I wanted to catch up with him before I headed back to Georgia on the train. I tried to get in to NCIS to see him but security was so tight they were not allowing anybody in the building who was not checked, re-checked, searched, authorized and practically given a rectal exam. I called him and he said he would come out and we would grab a coffee. He came out and quite frankly he looked like crap. He hadn't slept more than a couple of hours since Tuesday and every agency was on high alert trying to track down those responsible for the worst terror attack on US soil. I felt helpless. I wanted to help but what could I do?

"Finish your training, get back here, and help me catch these sons of bitches, DiNozzo."

"On it Boss."

We finished the rest of our coffee in silence.


	33. 33 - NCIS

**AN: And finally, Tony meets the rest of the gang. Can I ask if you all think this is getting too long? Are you getting bored? Please let me know if you think it is going too slowly.**

**33 - NCIS**

Finally the day had arrived and I was ready to start work at NCIS as Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I arrived early as instructed as I had to have my photo ID and other documents prepared before I could actually start. It was nearly 1000 hours by the time I was taken upstairs and delivered to Gibbs.

"About time you got here DiNozzo!" Nice greeting.

"Sorry I was…"

"Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness."

"Really, I was always taught it was polite…" He shot me a steely look I would come to know very well. "Right, no apologies. Got it boss."

His smirk showed his approval and a crooked finger over his shoulder was my apparent instruction to follow him. He stopped at a desk across from him and told me to put my stuff there. As I didn't actually have any stuff except a Mighty Mouse stapler, I was at a loss as to what else exactly I was to place on my desk but I didn't have too much time to agonize over it as Gibbs was off and rounding the corner and heading towards a set of steel stairs that lead to the upper level.

As I followed him we passed a larger work area over the partition from our area. It was a much more spacious area of four desks, open plan, large work areas, monitors all around. Better than our cramped four by six foot cubicles scrunched in next to the six other four by six foot cubicles on our side of the partition. "Who sits there?" I asked his retreating back.

"Hopefully us soon if I get my way." He strode up the staircase two at a time and I followed closely behind while also trying to take everything in.

We walked into an office with a sign that read Director Morrow on it. I expected to have to stop for the secretary (and apparently so did she if her spluttering and grunt of frustration was anything to go by) but Gibbs walked straight past her and as he was opening the inner door he said over his shoulder, "The director in?"

I didn't know what to do so I kind of just stopped in the middle of the secretary's room and looked from her to the doorway leading into the Director's office. She sent me a glare and then just shook her head and indicated that I might as well just go in too. I threw her one of my most charming smiles and followed Gibbs through the door.

When I entered the room Gibbs was standing in front of a large desk and seated behind that, still talking on the phone, was a man a around the same age as Gibbs. I assumed this was Director Morrow (I am a detective after all). He finished off the call with a, "Yes Mr Secretary. He is here now so I will let him know. Thank you Mr Secretary." As he hung up from his call he said, "Gibbs, I have a secretary for a reason you know." He then looked up at me, "This him?"

"Yep."

The Director walked around from behind his desk and came and stood in front of me, appraising me with a glance. "Agent DiNozzo, it's nice to meet you. You have an impressive jacket. I was just reading about your undercover work in Baltimore with the Macaluso Family… _very_ impressive."

I was surprised he was able to get his hands on it considering it was a confidential case and supposedly sealed by the FBI and judging by the look on Gibb's face he didn't know about it either. "Ah, thank you sir. May I ask how you…"

"I asked around about you and a friend in the FBI slipped it to me. Relax I am returning it as soon as this meeting is over." Gibbs cleared his throat, "once Gibbs has read it of course. Your secret is safe with us." The seal was there not just for the FBI but for me as well. There were a few people still associated with the Macaluso's who were not my biggest fans. Including one very pissed off "fiancé" and the FBI had taken great pains to not allow my real name to be used during any of the proceedings or in the official paperwork. 'Tony Campese (alias)' was the only name appearing in any file associated with the Macaluso sting.

"So, how do you think you will go working with Gibbs?"

I looked between he and Gibbs not really understanding the question. "Um, fine I guess." I watched the two men exchange looks that spoke volumes of a conversation I was not clued in on. "Am I missing something here?"

"Gibbs can be … difficult."

"Aw geez Tom I'm right here."

"Well Jethro we are up to, what, eleven agents now since you took over from Franks. Hell the last one didn't even last a day."

"Well he was an idiot!"

"He had 12 years experience with the ATF! Five hours with you and he was off on stress leave. Stan was the only one who has even come close to being able to work with you and he asked to be transferred because he was developing an ulcer."

Gibbs just shrugged. What the hell had I got myself into? I was starting to think that I might have just made a very big mistake. Wendy was going to_ kill_ me.

"There is no proof that Stan's ulcer was caused by me. Besides, Ducky checked him out and said he'll be fine. The difference between them and DiNozzo here is that _I_ picked DiNozzo. You and those HR airheads were the ones that thrust those nincompoops on to me. I told you from the start, let me pick my team and you will have the best MCR Team NCIS has ever had." "

Well at the moment you have two people and you need a minimum of three, preferably four, to run the MCRT. Should I get the 'airheads' to send up some more personnel files?"

"Do what you want, send me the mail boy for all I care, but get me back in charge of the MCRT so I can do what you need me to do."

Morrow stood toe to toe with Gibbs glaring each other down, neither willing to give an inch. Finally Morrow sighed, "SecNav has already approved you to head the MCRT again with DiNozzo here but you must have a third member by the end of the week. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," and Gibbs clapped the Director on the shoulder and proceeded to leave the room. I stood there not really knowing if there was any sort of formality for leaving the directors presence like a salute, a click of my heals or a cheerio, so I just chose to nod my head and scarpered out after Gibbs.

Gibbs however, turned on his heel and went _back_ into Morrows office just as I walked out. Now what? Do I go back in? Do I wait out here? My first day and I was already looking like a moron. I decided to follow Gibbs back in just in time to hear Morrow say, "Fine, you can move the MCR Team into the other bullpen but I can tell you, the International desk won't be happy."

"Do I look like I care?" Gibbs responded and then promptly left the room… _again._ Once again I was left standing in the directors office, staring blankly at the Director who just quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Director," I said and once again, walked out of his office to follow Gibbs. I managed a glance at the director's secretary who simply smiled and mouthed the words, "good luck," at me. Yep this was just going to be peachy.

We headed back towards the staircase only to stop at another door. As Gibbs bent over slightly I heard a buzz and the sound of a door release. We entered a darkened room, kind of like a private home movie theatre with the biggest kick ass screen I had ever seen at the front. I was practically salivating at the through of private movie screenings in here.

"Forget it DiNozzo." Gibbs muttered.

"Forget what?"

"This is not your personal movie theatre."

"I don't know what you are talking about, I am merely appreciating… whatever the hell is going on there." I pointed at the action on the screen while trying to act innocent. His humph was his way of saying he didn't believe me.

"This is MTAC, do you know what that is?"

"Multiple Threat Assessment Centre." "

Wow you did listen in class. This is the room we use to watch any tactical missions, communicate with our troops and personnel around the world and inter agency communications." I nodded my understanding having gone through this in my training at FLETC.

Apparently the tour of MTAC was over and we were on the move again. It took me a minute for my eyes to adjust after leaving the darkened room and out to the world's brightest skylights. Gibbs went over to the elevator on the opposite side of the building from where I entered and we quickly descended to the second lowest floor. As soon as the doors opened I heard a horrible sound. I thought my ears would bleed it was so harsh. Turns out it was music (certainly not the sort of music I was used to). We entered a laboratory and Gibbs walked over and turned off the source of the music. "Hey, who did that?"

The woman with the raspy voice turned and I was surprised by what I saw. She was a beautiful woman with striking green eyes, a _smoking_ hot body with legs that went up to her armpits and the shortest plaid mini skirt I had ever seen. Under her white lab coat her tight shirt was emblazoned with a skull and cross bone motif and they were all drinking what appeared to be margaritas or was it a martini? I leant forward to try and get a better look at the little drinks when I heard, "Ah hem, my eyes are up here Ken!"

I quickly stood up and looked into those striking green eyes, at the same level as my own as she was wearing six-inch platform boots. Those green eyes were not friendly, "What! No I wasn't… ouch!" That was the second time Gibbs ever hit the back of my head. I sure hope this wasn't going to be a habit of his.

I decided to start again by holding out my hand for her to shake, "Hi my name is Tony, not Ken. I was just trying to work out what was in the cups." Whack again! "No, the drinks… not your bra cups. I would never…" I could tell I was fighting a loosing battle with this attractive goth.

She turned to Gibbs and crossed her arms, "Who is this vacuous, Ken doll, frat boy you have bought into my domain Gibbs?" _Ken doll? Vacuous? Frat boy?_ Ok I will give her that one, but the others?

"Abby, this is Tony. He is the guy from Baltimore I was telling you about," Gibbs explained. "Tony this is Abby, our lead forensic scientist."

She turned and appraised me once more. I turned on my most brilliant smile. It only seemed to infuriate her even more. _"This_ guy! Are you kidding me? You said he was a street-wise detective who actually had a brain and used it. All I see is a pretty boy barely old enough to have made it through the academy let alone be a detective. And as for a brain, I have seen no indication of that so far! Looks more like he tries to get by on his looks and flattery and while I am sure there are some airhead blonde bimbos without an ounce of self respect foolish enough to fall for it, I am _not_!"

Ok I was getting a bit sick of this. I too crossed my arms and pulled myself up to my full height, "Look, I don't appreciate being treated like this. I don't have to explain my qualifications to you, nor do I need your approval. And for your information I happen to be 33 years old and while that _is_ young for a homicide detective I am _more_ than old enough to do this job thank you very much."

She sneered at me and turned back to Gibbs, "I want Stan back. Why can't we have Stan back?" She actually pouted and stomped her foot. Good grief! And then Gibbs did something that shocked the hell out of me. Something I would not expect this monosyllabic, ex-marine tough guy to do. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. Seriously! Then just to add insult to injury they started to talk in sign language completely excluding me from any further part of their conversation. I threw up my hands and walked away to wait for Gibbs at the door.

It was at this point that I was trying to work out how the hell I was going to tell my fiancé that I had just wasted 15 weeks of my life training for a job I quit after less than four hours. Great I wouldn't even last as long as the ATF guy! I was going through employment options in my head when a breeze brushed past me and a gruff, "you coming, DiNozzo?"

I glanced back at Abby who actually poked her tongue out at me.

We entered the elevator again and Gibbs hit the lowest button taking us down to the depths of the building. I turned to Gibbs, "Well she was nice. Is she that welcoming to everyone or did she just take an unreasonable dislike to me?"

"No she is usually much friendlier than that."

"Oh so it_ is_ me. Good to know."

The doors opened and we walked towards two sliding doors that would allow entry into autopsy. When we entered the cold sterile room I noticed an older man talking away to his assistant who was at the other end of the room. Well I thought he was talking to his assistant until I noticed the assistant wearing earphones and bouncing his head in time to the music. That did not seem to deter the older gentleman.

I instantly like this man. His accent bought a smile to my lips as I was transported back to England and my mother's family. His accent was different though, similar but with a … Scottish lilt perhaps?

"Hey Duck," Gibbs got the ME's attention.

"Ah Jethro, I was wondering when you would bring down our newest charge. I must say I have been quite eager to meet you young man. It's not just anyone that has Gibbs practically giddy with excitement at one's potential."

Gibbs sniffed, "Giddy with excitement? Give me a break, all I said was he was good and I could work well with him."

"And from you Jethro_ that_ is practically gushing." He turned his attention back to me. "Doctor Donald Mallard at your service my boy, but my friends call me Ducky." He held out his hand for me to shake.

"Anthony DiNozzo, but my friends call me Tony. It's nice to meet you Dr Mallard," I responded.

"I said my friends call me Ducky, Anthony. You don't mind if I call you Anthony do you? I do tend to prefer the more formal names rather than the shortened version. It reminds me of the old country."

"Scottish with an English education if I am not mistaken."

"Why yes that is correct! Very few people get the Scottish connection unless they are British themselves. But DiNozzo is an Italian name, Northern Italy if I am not mistaken, up towards the Swizz border somewhere judging by your light coloring."

"Very impressive Ducky. Yes the DiNozzo clan does come from near Milan actually, although you wouldn't know it as I have zero interest in fashion. But my mother was English and I have spent a little bit of time over there through the years."

"Do you travel back there with her often?"

There must have been a flash of something across my face because before I could form an answer that was both obtuse and didn't allow my voice to betray my emotions the Doctor changed the conversation. "I am sorry I am taking up too much of your time. I am sure you still have much to see and people to meet."

"Well I certainly enjoyed meeting you more than Abby upstairs."

"Oh dear, well I am afraid young Abigail was still holding out hope that her friend Stan would return to the fold. Try not to take it too personally; I am sure she will warm to you in time. She really is a very friendly young lady, and incredibly intelligent. Do you know that in ancient Egypt any woman with her intellect would…."

"Ducky!" Gibbs interrupted him but instead of taking offence the good doctor just seemed to take it in his stride like it was a regular occurrence. I was starting to understand why his assistant had an alternative listening source.

"Right, yes well. Gerald come over hear and meet Gibbs new partner."

The assistant continued to bob his head oblivious to all around him.

"That damned music player._ GERALD_!" Ducky shouted at the top of his lungs. This got his assistants attention and he made his way over.

"Sorry Dr Mallard, did you need something?"

"Yes Mr Jackson, some social interaction if that is not too much to ask. This is Tony DiNozzo, Gibbs new partner. Anthony this is my assistant Gerald Jackson."

We exchanged pleasantries and after a small amount of small talk Gibbs patience was wearing thing and he was keen to be off again.

Ducky made me promise to return when I could so we could enjoy a cup of tea and discuss my trips to England at a more leisurely time.

Our next stop was to the supply room where I would finally get my gear. I was issued with official NCIS hat, jacket, vest, backpack, I also received my forensic kit and camera, which went into the backpack, my cell phone and finally my NCIS issued firearm. The last stop on my tour was the evidence locker and finally the MCRT vehicle and layout of it.

We returned back up to our floor just in time to see the International members packing up their belongings and walking out of what was now the MCRT bullpen. Judging by the looks I was getting I would find my welcome from them about as friendly as the one I received from Abby.

Gibbs told me to pack up my desk and put my gear on whichever new desk I wanted. As my old desk (which I hadn't even sat at yet) had one stapler I picked it up and then I threw my gear behind one of the desks in our new area.

"Not that one, that's mine," Gibbs informed me coming around the corner with a box of his belongings.

"You told me to pick whichever one I wanted."

"Yeah, so long as it wasn't the one I wanted. You take that one," he said pointing at the desk diagonally across from his.

"So any desk so long as it's the one you choose for me."

He looked up at me and said, "yeah!" like it was painfully obvious. I took a seat at my new desk and sized it up. Yep, this would work. I was a little concerned at the walkway behind me and the fact someone could walk up behind me without me knowing but it wasn't like I was going to be talking about anyone behind their backs…

Less than ten minutes later Gibbs hung up from a call and I had my first, "Gear up."

I was about to start my first case as NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."


	34. 34 - NCIS First Case

**34 – NCIS – First Case**

Our first case took place on the USS Seahawk (a ship I would get to know very intimately in the future during my time as Agent Afloat), which was currently docked for restocking. It was due to sail at 0500 the next morning. We were called out as a dead midshipman had been found in his bunk with four stab wounds in his chest. My detective skills kicked in and I deduced this was _not_ a suicide.

We arrived at the ship and Gibbs told me to stick close to him and it wasn't long before I realized why. This thing was a rabbit warren. We went down, over, down, across, up, around and down again. Gibbs was explaining how the numbers on each bulkhead worked but I honestly was turned around and lost in less than two minutes flat. I had no chance of finding my way out of here alone. I did worry this was some sort of hazing by Gibbs similar to my partner in Peoria but Gibbs didn't seem to be the practical joke kind of guy (I later found out that he was actually). We finally arrived at the room containing our dead sailor and Gibbs turned to me and waited. For what?

"Well go on get started!"

As a detective we would come in, check out the scene and then hand over to the forensic techs to come in and collect forensic evidence while we started to question witnesses. However, as an NCIS MCRT member we do the lot. This was my first time actually having to do the forensic work and it would appear Gibbs wasn't the "here let me show you how it's done" kind of guy. He was more the "get in and do it and don't stuff it up or I'll kick your ass from here to Mexico" kind of guy. I remembered my FLETC classes and pulled out my camera and started taking photos of the room and the body and then some of the smaller details. I was happily snapping away for about half an hour before I heard the familiar accent of Ducky.

"Ah Anthony, we meet again. We would have been here sooner but Gerald here managed to get us lost. He doesn't have a good sense of direction I am afraid."

I could see Gerald roll his eyes behind the Doctor's back. "You were the one who told me to turn left at the intersection. I told you it was right."

"Well we are here now and that is all that matters. Not that our being late is all that worrisome to this poor lad." I would soon discover that Ducky was quite often late to a crime scene and as much as he liked to lay the blame at Gerald's, and later Palmer's, feet, the truth was Ducky was usually the cause. Ducky used to like a chat and, as he often took on the roll of navigator, he would become so caught up in his own narration of whatever story he was telling, he would omit to point out a turn, or have the map facing the wrong causing them to have to backtrack or find an alternative route.

Now that he was here though Ducky bent over and started examining the body. He continued his examination for some time and now that I was finished with the photographs I moved on to my next task of sketching and measuring the scene. By the time Ducky was ready to remove the body I had finished my two main tasks and I was just starting on collecting of the evidence when Gibbs returned. He asked, "What you got Duck," to which Ducky responded with his preliminary findings and advised he would know more after doing the autopsy.

He then turned his attention to me. "Well?"

I told him what I had done and what I was doing and he took my sketches and looked them over. He hand them back without so much as a grunt so I assumed they were OK. He would have to wait until the photos were developed by Abby before he could check them out (this was pre digital days people) but I described the angles and measures I used for scale. "OK," he said and then walked out again.

I looked over at Ducky who smiled and told me that this was about as high praise as I could expect from Gibbs so I must be going OK.

I continued collecting evidence for the next couple of hours and as I was just finishing up with the room Gibbs arrived again. He looked around, nodded and said he was finished with the questioning so we were heading back.

On the way back I counted up on my fingers how man words Gibbs had said to me. Seven! Seven words was all the "training" I received at my first crime scene.

We arrived back at NCIS and Gibbs told me to get all the evidence up to Abby. "Ah, maybe you might be better doing that Boss."

He shot me a look that told me in no uncertain terms that I was to take up the evidence. "Taking the evidence to Abby, on it Boss."

I entered Abby's domain for the second time that day hoping desperately that the ice queen may have thawed a little. She hadn't. "Why isn't Gibbs dropping this off?" She demanded.

"Because he asked me to do it."

"Well you better not have stuffed anything up." She picked up the first bag to sign the chain of evidence log and scrutinized every letter and every inch of the bag hoping to find an error. She finally humphed and signed the bag. She then proceeded to pick up the next and do the same thing. This was going to take forever!

"Abby, I really need to be getting back up to Gibbs do you think you can maybe be a little _less_ thorough?"

"Well I don't know what quality of work _you_ are used to, Mr Hot Shot Detective, but here I make sure when I do something I do it right." She then returned to examining the items and seemed to take even longer if that was even possible. I rolled my eyes and waited for her to finish. She was disappointed to only find one error (I forgot to put an e on the end of bronze on one of the bags) and finally let me go. I foolishly asked how her how long before we could expect some results to which her response was, "_When_ my results are ready, and they will be ready when I say they are ready, I will ensure _Gibbs_ receives them immediately. You can go now."

Wow, this chick was a capita H.

I entered the lift after finally escaping the lab only to find Gibbs in the lift as well. "Geez DiNozzo, what the hell took you so long? I was about to put out a BOLO on you."

I was about to explain the reason for the delay but based on the fact that he was obviously so attached to Abby I chose to just say, "Won't happen again boss."

Our next stop was down in autopsy again where Ducky had finished with his preliminary findings. The stab wounds were of course the cause of death, one in particular having sliced through the aorta causing him to bleed out within a matter of minutes. "Though terrifying it would at least have been a quick death for our Mr Smythe." He finished of by saying that he had sent Gerald up to Abby with samples for toxicology and a wound tract mold that she could hopefully work out the murder weapon.

Just then Gerald walked back in still laughing about some joke he and Abby shared while he was upstairs. "Man that Abby cracks me up." I shock my head still unable to fathom the reason for her apparent hatred of me other than the fact I was doing the job someone else quit.

Gibbs and I returned to the bullpen and it was time to settle in and find out who the hell did this. We worked late into the night coming up with background information, leads and financial records. It was about 2100 when my phone range. Wendy was calling up to see how my first day had been assuming I was in the hotel room I had booked for my first week in town. I looked over at Gibbs who told me I could take ten minutes but I had better come back with a coffee for him.

I told Wendy about my day and about the people I was working with. She also agreed that Abby was a bitch and thought it was strange that Gibbs wasn't giving me more guidance. It was so nice to have someone who had my back like she did. I told her that I thought this job was going to be harder than I imagined and I wasn't sure if I was going to cut it or not. She told me that I was damn good at my job and Gibbs would not have plucked me out of nowhere and put me through all the training only to give me the boot a few days after starting. She told me to hang in there and even though we were apart through the week, she would see me on the weekend and make me forget all about work. Did I mention how much I loved this woman?

I returned to work right on the ten minute mark with a coffee for Gibbs and a hot chocolate for me and hung up from Wendy with, "I love you too," just as I fronted up to Gibbs desk. He looked up making sure my words were not directed at him.

"Sorry, my girlfriend… fiancé actually."

He gave me a look I wasn't really comfortable with, as if he was looking through my and into my head, "Didn't know you had one. She here with you?" he asked.

"Ah no she is still in Baltimore. She teaches at an Elementary school there. She is looking at jobs here in Washington but won't be able to transfer until the new school year."

"So what, are you driving backwards and forwards each day?"

"No I have a hotel room here, I'll stay there for this week and I will head back there this weekend. She will probably come down most other weekends. Wendy and I are going to go house hunting in a few weeks when everything settles down."

"What about next week?" Oh god was he going to fire me? "What about it?"

"Where are you staying next week?"

"Oh, not sure yet. This hotel is booked out next week so I will look around for somewhere else. If I can't find anything I will just drive in from Baltimore each day, it's a bit of drive but hopefully we will find something permanent soon. I don't really want to get myself locked into a rental lease because we are hoping to buy while the market is good, so if we find a place we like then I will move in there until Wendy comes out in June."

"You can stay at my place if you want." The world just stopped spinning on it's axis.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Are you deaf or something DiNozzo! I said you can stay at my place."

I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure living with Gibbs was a good idea, he barely seemed to tolerate me at work so living together could quite possibly end in a murder suicide investigation. "Ah wow, that's really nice of you to offer but maybe that isn't such a good idea. I mean Wendy will be coming down on weekends to look at places with me and … well you know… we might want some… ahem…_ private_ time."

"We'll work something out. Bring your gear in tomorrow. No use throwing away good money on hotels, you don't make enough for that sort of luxury."

"Well it isn't really a luxurious hotel, kind of dingy really, kind of smelly too, and there is this stain on the…" he threw me a look that told me there would be no further discussion. Looks like I had a roomy. "Ok, well then, I'll bring my gear in tomorrow. Thanks, I think."

We continued working for another hour but with no results from Abby we were kind of at a stand still. Gibbs told me to go and I went to my dingy, smelly hotel room to get some sleep before returning at 0700 the next morning.

I arrived back at my desk the next morning and stowed my gear (now that I had gear) and put my gun and badge in my draw. I then booted up the computers and as I was about to check on the BOLO my favorite person arrived in the bullpen. Abby, queen of the night, looked around and seemed disappointed to only find me here. Rather than acknowledging me though, she chose to stand at Gibbs desk and look anywhere other than in my direction. I let out an audible sigh and decided to take the high road. "Good morning Abby, I trust you had a good night."

"What I do with my evenings is no concern of yours. Nor do I want to hear about your evening and whichever bimbo you entertained" so much for polite small talk.

"Did you get any results on any of the tests you ran?"

"I will be giving any results directly to Gibbs. Where is he anyway?"

"Right here. What you got Abs?"

She proceeded to advise Gibbs of her finding and I came to stand beside her to listen. She instantly stopped talking and turned to me, "Do you mind taking a huge step that way please," and she pointed in the direction directly behind me. I simply smiled and took a step back. She then turned and continued her discussion with Gibbs and snatched any reports out of my hand I happened to pick up. I didn't bother hiding my exasperation from my face and Gibbs didn't miss it either.

"DiNozzo, update the BOLO. Did you bring your gear in? I made up the spare room for you."

I was surprised by this change of subject and the fact that he bought it up in front of Morticia Addams, "Ah yeah, all here. Thanks again I won't be any trouble and I'll be out of your hair by Friday night."

I could see Abby was not happy with the turn the conversation was taking either. Somehow I think this was the idea, "What gear, why did you make up the second bedroom. He isn't staying with you is he? Why are you letting him stay with you?" Abby's childishness and petty jealousy was wearing thin, and not just on me apparently.

"Abby, walk with me." He shot her a look that said arguing would be pointless. She slumped her shoulders and followed our fearless leader.

I grabbed Abby's results of Gibbs desk, updated the BOLO and then proceeded to look over her findings. And that is when I found the smoking gun. Not literally because he was stabbed, not shot, but figuratively. I was pretty sure I knew who the murderer was. I went charging in the direction Gibbs and Abby had taken and found them talking in break room. From the looks of it Gibbs had finally decided to talk to Abby about her attitude towards me. I don't know if it would make any difference, nor did I particularly care either. "Gibbs, I think I know who murdered Midshipman Smythe." I went over my findings with Gibbs and he agreed. It was time to go talk to our prime suspect. The only problem was our suspect was on the ship and it has already set sail this morning.

"You ever landed on an air craft carrier DiNozzo?"

"Can't say that I have Boss."

"Well today's your lucky day."

We flew out to the Seahawk and the landing was definitely something you have to experience to understand. You go from 150 miles per hour to zero in under two seconds. I almost threw up, but didn't. "Looking a bit pale there DiNozzo."

"I'm fine." Gibbs just laughed.

We found our suspect working away as if he hadn't just murdered someone the day before but as soon as he saw us he was off. I gave chase and managed to catch up to him a few flights of stairs and several twits and turns later. I slapped on the cuffs and then realized I had no idea where the hell I was. Great it was my first day at Peoria all over again. Thankfully though Gibbs managed to find me before I had to ask the arrestee which way I had to go. That would not have been good form.

We closed the case quickly after that. He confessed to the murder and we were on our way back to NCIS by close of business.

Gibbs took the suspect to holding and told me to go down and let Abby know an arrest had been made. Great, there goes my high.

I knocked on Abby's door as I didn't want to cause another diatribe from her. Surprisingly she heard it over the god awful music she was playing and waved me in.

"Gibbs wanted me to tell you that we made the arrest and he confessed so if you just want to get your reports together we can get this closed up." I then turned on my heels and went to walk out.

"Wait." Damn it. Here we go again.

I turned around with a sigh waiting for the tongue-lashing only to find Abby holding out a single rose to me. It was black not red so I instantly assumed she was placing some sort of curse on me. "What's this?" I asked suspiciously.

"This is a peace offering." I was still suspicious.

"O… K… Why is it black?"

"I like black."

I took the flower from her and was then engulfed in a bear hug.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

"I'm hugging you!"

"Why!?" I was still convinced she was determined to kill me.

"Because you are all alone here."

"What?"

"Gibbs told me about your fiancé and that you have been living in a rat infested hotel. I'm sorry I didn't realize you had to leave her behind to come here. Nobody should have to be alone. I assume you were some sort of male bimbo and that was wrong. You reminded me of a boyfriend I recently broke up with and he cheated on me and treated me like crap and I put all that on you and I shouldn't have. I am sorry I said I wanted Stan back. I mean, I do want him back but that doesn't mean I want him instead of you; maybe with you. You would both get on really well." Abby was still maintaining her death grip through this entire monologue and hugs were something I wasn't really used to from anyone other than a lover. I was starting to feel uncomfortable with her encroaching on my personal space.

"Ah Abby, maybe you might want to let go now."

She let go, "Right sorry. Do you forgive me?"

I still was hesitant but as she made effort I decided to listen to John Lennon's advice and give peace a chance. "Sure, why not. Clean slate." She smiled her first smile at me. It made her much prettier than the scowl I had seen her with until now.

"I really am sorry that you can't be with your fiancé. When are you getting married?"

"August, just before the start of the new school year. She is hoping to get a job here next year but has to stay in Baltimore until June when school finishes."

"August is a great month for weddings. I have a friend and he does spiritual readings and things and he says marriages in August and March are the strongest."

"Well that's good to know." I didn't really know what else to say, not completely trusting this turn about of attitude. "Well I better be getting back up to Gibbs. Thanks for the rose."

She gave me one more hug before I left. I was kind of wishing we could go back to the way things were and the, you know… non-touching thing.

After I made my way back to my desk we finished off our paperwork and by 1900 hours I was finished and ready to head out. But Gibbs had disappeared about an hour ago and I was supposed to be staying with him now. I had cancelled my hotel room so if he had changed his mind it looked like I was sleeping here, or the Y, or maybe with Abby, my new bestie, I shuddered at the thought of that. In fact none of these options was particularly appealing. I had decided that maybe I should just head home to Baltimore tonight and surprise Wendy. I normally only takes just over an hour from my house to here but with peek hour traffic I would probably have to allow two hours in the morning.

I had just picked up my belongings and slung on my backpack when I heard Gibbs, "Where you going DiNozzo?"

"Ah, I wasn't sure if you remembered so I was just going to go back to Baltimore."

"Of course I remembered, come on. I have a couple of steaks in the fridge if you want to pick up some beer on the way."

"Sure, sounds great."

That was the first night I ever had Gibbs famous Cowboy steaks.


	35. 35 - The Wedding That Wasn't (Or Wendy P

**AN: This is my take on the wedding break up. Also, in relation to Tony's apartment, the first time we saw it there was a hall outside his place and a neighbor across the way. In episode 1 of this season he says that the "girl down the hall" would be looking after Kate the fish but when we see the front of the building with Abby's recreation he is on the first floor of a building only wide enough to take his unit. Here in Australia it is popular to demolish old buildings while keeping the front façade intact and building behind them a much larger multi-storey complex so that is kind of where I was going with this description.**

**35 – The Wedding that Wasn't (Or Wendy Part 3)**

My first night at Gibb's place wasn't as bad as I had expected. He cooked a mean steak, in his lounge room fireplace and not the kitchen as expected, and his little house was warm and cozy. It could do with a little sprucing but it was what I would expect for an ex-marine, newly divorced, hard working federal agent. There were some misshapen and badly beaten boxes just in the door with the words "Ass hat's stuff" written on them and when I enquired he just told me they were a couple of boxes of his stuff from his ex-wife's place. OK, so "still friend" didn't apply to that divorce.

Turns out his wife didn't want to live here, not happy with 'memories' which I assumed was the two previous ex wives (and his dead wife and daughter which I wouldn't find out about for another three years), and so he had only just moved back here a few months ago. That would explain the sparseness of his belongings (actually it didn't, turns out Gibbs house would always be 'sparse').

"So I shouldn't ask you for any advice about marriage then?" I asked feeling brave after downing my second beer.

"Sure, have a good lawyer ready to roll and don't leave any golf clubs laying around."

"Nice, you and my father really should compare notes."

We talked a little more that night, polite niceties rather than anything of depth. Neither Gibbs nor I was really the 'deep' kind but as our relationship developed over the years, any advice he gave, or any reassurance I sought, was received gratefully because I knew it was sincere and honest. Sincere and honest was Gibb's version of warm and fuzzy and it came from the heart; his damaged, shriveled little heart.

I ended up living with Gibbs for just over six weeks. It went well, for the most part. There were a few little hitches, like when I set fire to his kitchen. It was only a small fire and I said I would pay for all the repairs myself, but he was still not impressed. He didn't talk to me for three days, well I don't think he talked to me but it could have just been Gibbs being Gibbs and me being a little insecure, it's hard to tell. There was also that little flooding issue but as I explained to Gibbs, the faucet would have broken if he had used it too; it wasn't technically my fault. However, I still had to pay for the carpet to be dried and the after hours plumber to come and fix the broken tap. I am pretty sure Gibbs could have fixed it himself but he seemed to want to make me suffer. That was another three days of the cold shoulder treatment (I think).

At work we had agents come and go, never able to hold on to anyone for more than a couple of days, sometimes a few weeks. Usually I could throw myself between Gibbs and our newbie to defuse any tension, and as I was actually getting used to Gibbs and telling the difference between pissed Gibbs, and really pissed Gibbs, I would often take the brunt of his anger for them by acting the fool and redirecting Gibbs ire from his original target. That is where my training at RIMA came in handy. Stand at attention, look straight ahead, wait for the tirade to be over and continue on with the job. However, I couldn't be everywhere all the time and when I wasn't there to be a buffer; that is when we would usually have to ask the 'airheads' for some new personnel files. Most of the time I could handle it, but sometimes, especially when I was particularly missing Wendy, my old insecurities would flare up again and I would find myself asking, "what if..." or wondering if I was doing my job well or if Gibb's was just tolerating me because I didn't walk out on him. Of course I was always worried that I was not enough.

Wendy and Gibbs met when Wendy came down to Washington for the first time. They seemed to get on pretty well and when he asked how we met we chose to omit the whole 'teacher had sex with a student part' and just that we met in Baltimore after knowing each other from RIMA. I have a feeling he may have suspected more to the story but if he did he chose not to ask.

We went house hunting and found a nice little one-bedroom unit that suited us down to the ground. Gibbs came and inspected it for us and gave it the thumbs up. It was one of those buildings where they keep the old street façade of a couple of buildings, but behind that the building is gutted and a much larger, modern unit complex built behind it. We bought one of the second floor units at the front with a street view. Although we intended to start a family, it would not be for several years and we knew a unit in this area would always be a good investment. We would concentrate on paying off as much of the mortgage as we could and then when we bought our house we would keep the unit as a rental investment. One thing my father had taught me was real estate was always a smart choice.

We settled a month after signing the contract and I moved in straight away. Sadly, as I had been living with Wendy for a while now, we didn't have a lot of spare furniture that I could move in with and our budget didn't really allow me to buy much either. I settled on a good quality twin bed that we would always use it in the kid's room later on (Wendy had our queen bed she would bring with her when she moved in), and a second hand couch and small dining table and chairs. Gibb's place looked luxurious compared to this Spartan abode. Still it was only temporary. It was now January and Wendy would be here in June, six months… not a problem. Besides, it wasn't like I was one to entertain guests; that was more Wendy's thing. Now that our home was settled, I tended to go back to Baltimore on my free weekends (which were pretty few and far between) rather than Wendy come here because we still had all the wedding stuff to arrange and with Wendy's family and our friends in Baltimore it was more of our social hub.

As the months rolled on and the wedding drew closer everything seemed to be slotting into place nicely. Wendy had picked the church her parents had been married in (as I wasn't particularly religious I left it completely up to Wendy to choose), the reception hall was booked and paid for, the caterers had been picked and the meals decided on. We had picked our wedding rings, matching white gold plain bands. We also had to pick a cake, the flowers, my suit, Steve's suit, the bridesmaid's dress, and the flower girl's and ring bearer's outfits. There were the cars to think about, I wanted an Austin Martin like the one James Bond drove, but Wendy was more inclined to go with a traditional limousine. I won. Accommodation had to be arranged for out of town visitors and guests and I was still to hear from my father as to where he wanted to stay and if I needed to order a meal for a wife. The list was endless and between the hours I worked and the wedding plans the next months flew by.

When school let out I was all ready for Wendy to finally move in and we could start our new life together. However, Wendy decided that it was so close to the wedding that maybe it would be better for her to stay in Baltimore until then and we could move in as husband and wife after our honeymoon. Besides, she still had so much to do to plan that driving backwards and forwards from Washington would just be a huge waste of time. I reluctantly agreed.

I had finally finished my last day at work before the wedding and I was looking forward to the next two weeks off. Hopefully our newest probie would last long enough for me to at least finish my honeymoon. I was to drive up to Baltimore tonight, have my bucks party (Steve was under strict instructions that no part of my head was to be tattooed, shaved, drawn on with permanent marker, pierced, of damaged in anyway. The rest of my body was fine… except my ring finger). It was Wednesday so it would give me nearly three days to get over my hang over before the wedding on Saturday at 3:00pm (Wendy didn't do military time). Gibbs, Ducky, Gerald and Abby all assured me they would be there for the wedding. Abby, who was the only one so far to have not had the chance to meet Wendy was absolutely giddy with excitement. We had come a long way from where we started and I now considered Abby a good friend and she could not believe how off the mark her initial knee-jerk reaction to me had been.

I was still trying to get in contact with my father but I assumed he was just being his normal absent self and booked him a suite at the finest hotel in Baltimore. My bank account was looking sad… _very_ sad. I wasn't a traditionalist who believed that the bride's family should pay for a wedding. If you want to get married, pay for it yourself. Besides, Wendy's parents were not rich and had three other daughters who where less enlightened than Wendy and I. Still it would all be worth it in the end. I had just enough left on credit to pay for a few fancy meals on our one-week honeymoon at the beach. Not the most romantic but all we could afford at the moment. Maybe we could do Paris for our anniversary, our tenth anniversary based on the amount of debt we were now in.

So the bachelor party went off without a hitch, well nothing Wendy needed to know about anyway, and Steve and I had had our final fittings and now all I had to do was wake up in the morning, shower, shave, walk around nervously before getting dressed and get married. After all the stress and worry it was going to go off without a hitch. I hadn't seen Wendy since last weekend but she told me then that she would see me at the church so when I heard a knock at my hotel room door and opened it to my beautiful bride-to-be I was pleasantly surprised.

"Are you after one more night of sinful premarital sex you naughty little minx," I asked her with a grin.

"Can I come in, I need to talk to you," she didn't seem as happy as I would have expected. I hoped nothing had gone wrong with the plans for tomorrow.

"What's wrong? Your dad didn't drop the cake did he?"

She looked at me and I could tell it was more than a dropped cake or a stain on the dress. "Tony," tears started to well in her eyes, "I'm so sorry but I can't… I'm not …" She was sobbing now, unable to get the words out she needed to say.

"What are you sorry for?" I was getting a sinking feeling in my stomach but I moved forward to hold her, my heart breaking for the pain she was obviously in. Did something happen to someone? _Was someone dead?_ "Wendy you are scaring me, what's the matter?"

"I can't marry you." Blood drained, world tilted, bile rose, silence resonated. Time. Stopped.

I let her go and stepped back. "What? I don't understand. Why?"

My mind raced then, trying to think of something, a_nything,_ I might have done or said that could have caused this. It came up empty. I didn't understand.

She looked at the ground, unwilling to meet my eyes, "I'm not ready, I … I can't do this."

I put my hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at me but her eyes darted away. "You just have cold feet, you're nervous that's all. Look at me Wendy, there is nothing to be frightened about. It's me!" But still she wouldn't look at me.

"No it's not cold feet Tony." .I though back over the last months, at our forced separation, at the fact she didn't want to move to Washington in June, had we drifted apart and I was too busy to see it? "Is there someone else?"

She finally looked at me, "NO! I swear there is no one else."

"Then why, I don't understand. Why don't you want to marry me? Is it too soon? Maybe we can postpone it for a while if you're not ready, take some more time."

She looked at me one last time, "I'm sorry Tony," and then she walked away.

I called out for her but she kept walking, refusing to turn around. I could do nothing but watch her go. After she was gone I closed my door and went and sat on my bed. _What the hell had just happened?_ I didn't understand. My mind was a jumble of confused thoughts; Was this a joke? Was it a dream? Did she lie about there being someone else? Was it something I said? Was it that she didn't want to move to Washington? Was I working too much? _Was I not enough?_

The rest of the night passed and dawn's early light found me sitting in the exact same spot but now instead of my mind racing, it was numb, empty, incapable of thought. That is how Steve found me when he came to collect me for breakfast.

"Tony, what's wrong, you sick or something?" he asked.

"She's gone."

"What? Who?"

"Wendy." My voice remained calm and flat, no longer capable of the depth of emotion I had dealt with through the night.

"Gone where?"

"Just gone. She doesn't want to marry me."

He was stunned into silence.

"I have to call people, tell them not to come. Do you know where my phone is?" I asked, not bothering to look around.

He handed me my phone from the bedside table, still not sure himself what to do. Then he left and I could hear him muttering, "wait till I get my hands on that bitch, can't dump my friend the day before …" He faded out after that. I later found out he tried to track her down and drag her back to talk to me but he didn't find her. No one knew where she had gone.

I didn't know where to start so I started with my Dad. He actually answered this time, first time in the two months that I had been trying to get in contact with him. "Junior, how is it going?"

"Not great Dad, just ringing to let you know not to bother coming to the wedding today."

"Was that this weekend? I thought it was next month. Oh well I am in Hawaii anyway so it all worked out in the end."

I didn't really know what to say to that. I was still so numb from Wendy's utter betrayal that my father's standard lack of concern just washed over me for once. Oh I would eventually get angry at him, furious in fact, just not today. I didn't have it in me to fight today.

"Have a nice time in Hawaii Dad," I said before hanging up.

OK one call down, there were approximately 200 guests coming and I am sure Wendy would have told her family so I guess that left about 150 – 180 people for me to contact. I sighed and dialed the next number on my speed dial not really paying attention to who it was.

"Gibbs," came the familiar voice at the other end of the phone.

"Hey Gibbs, just letting you know that you don't need to drive up to Baltimore today, Wendy has called the wedding off. Can you let everyone there know so they don't waste their time driving up? Thanks."

I was about to hang up and make my next random call when he spoke, "What happened?"

My numbness was starting to fade and I could feel my emotions starting to emerge again. Great, now I was going to cry on the phone to Gibbs. I took a breath and tried to steady my voice as best I could, "Don't know, she came to me last night and said she didn't want to marry me and left. I don't mean to be rude but I have a lot of calls to make so…"

"Hang up the phone and sit tight DiNozzo, I will be there as soon as I can."

"No Gibbs, I just told you the wedding is off, you don't have to come up anymore."

"Listen to me very carefully DiNozzo, I am not coming up for the wedding, I am coming up for you. You don't need to make anymore phone calls, let me deal with all of that. Now just sit there, don't do anything and I will be there soon. OK."

"OK," and I did exactly what he asked. He arrived at my door not forty-five minutes later having no doubt broken the land speed record in the process. I was still clutching my phone in my hand and still sitting on my bed just like he told me.

I looked up at him and I saw an emotion on his face I had never seen directed at me. Compassion. I knew it because he showed compassion for kids and war widows, so if he was showing compassion to me… I must be in a bad way. I started to cry, the wall I had erected no longer able to hold it back anymore. I leant forward put my face in my hands and sobbed for the first time since my mother's funeral. He came and sat on the bed beside me and put his arm around my shoulder. He didn't pull me into a hug, didn't rub my back, just rested his arm so I could feel I wasn't alone and he let me cry it out.

When my tears slowed, and my breathing evened out, he removed his arm and started gathering my things together.

"What are you doing?" I asked, looking at him through puffy eyes and wiping my nose with my sleeve, unable to locate a tissue.

"We're going home."

"I can't, I still have to let people know what happened."

"Taken care of," he said.

"How?"

"Ducky and Abby are going to go to the church. They will let people know."

"Why?"

"Why what?" he asked.

"Why are they doing that?"

He looked at me, "Because you're one of us, Tony. We look after our own."

I didn't really know what to say to that. "Oh, OK."

"Come on, let's go." He had managed to gather all my things and was about to leave when I pointed to the suit hanging behind the door.

"What about that?"

"Did you buy it or rent it?"

"Bought it, Wendy didn't want to rent anything."

He looked at it, "You want it?"

"No, not really."

"Then we leave it."

And we did.

We drove home in mostly silence although he did ask after my father knowing that up until Wednesday I still hadn't managed to contact him to see if he was coming. "Yeah I finally got him this morning. He's in Hawaii, he wasn't coming anyway."

I heard Gibbs grunt and he hit the gas pedal forcing the car to go even faster than I thought was possible. For once Gibb's erratic driving didn't faze me in the slightest. Maybe losing control and dying in a fiery crash would end the agonizing pain I was in.

Instead of going to my place as expected, he drove me back to his house. Dropping my bags near the door he guided me down into the basement; sat me down and handed me a mason jar filled half way to the brim with bourbon. I don't actually like bourbon that much but I just wanted to get drunk and forget what a clusterfuck the last 24 hours had been. I downed it in one gulp. Gibbs smirked and filled my glass again. "Maybe take this one a bit slower Tony." He then walked over and started working on some timber in the corner. Leaving me to my own thoughts.

We sat in companionable silence, he sanding away at whatever project he had started, me trying to stop the room from spinning out of control. I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before so the bourbon had hit it's mark quicker than expected. I had _no_ idea what time it was.

It wasn't until I had finished my third drink that Gibbs spoke, "So what happened?"

"I have no idea." I could hear my voice slurring.

"There someone else?"

"She said no." I blinked my eyes and they took quite a while to open again.

"What about you? You didn't do anything you shouldn't have that she might have found out about? No last hurrah at the your bachelor party?"

"What! NO! I would never do that. I'm a lot of things Gibbs but I am not a cheater." I slammed down my glass and refilled it almost to the brim. This bourbon was growing on me.

"OK, settle down, didn't mean to offend. So what did she say?"

I shrugged, "Just that she didn't want to marry me. No reason given. She just … left; Ciao… sayonara… adios amigos." I went to readjust my seat as my butt was getting numb but I only managed to slide of the stool onto the floor, "Whoops." Did I just giggle? Gibbs came over and lifted me of the dusty floor and sat me back down. He took my drink off me, "Hey, I was enjoying that!" I think I might have pouted; it worked for Abby.

He went up to the kitchen and then came down with a large glass filled to the brim… with water. What a disappointment. "Drink this and take these."

He handed me two tablets. I looked at them suspiciously, "What are they?"

"Tylanol."

"I don't have a headache."

"You will."

I heard his phone ring then and he went off in the corner to answer it. I could hear a smattering of conversation, "how did it go?... Not great, he's a mess actually… she didn't show? ... pour him into bed soon I think… call you in the morning… Thanks Duck."

My mind cleared for an agonizing moment, "It's really over isn't it?" I asked.

"Afraid so Tony."

"She didn't show?" He shook his head.

I could feel the tears well once more. "I think I might go up to bed now." I wanted to go before I had a repeat of my earlier breakdown.

"Your room's made up. Need some help getting up there?"

"Nope, I'll be ok." I started up the stairs, missing the first one and hitting my shinbone hard. The pain throbbed and the tears started to flow.

"You sure?" Gibbs asked.

I couldn't trust myself to answer so simply shook my head and started up again, more carefully this time. By the time I made it up the two flights to my room sobs were wracking my body again. I passed out sometime through the night and when I woke a blanket had been draped over me, and a bucket was beside my bed near my head. It came in handy.

I spent nearly all day Sunday either in bed or in the bathroom, alternating between throwing up and sleeping. Gibbs finally came into my room on dusk and ordered me downstairs.

He sat me down at the dining table and placed a plate of soup in front of me. My stomach didn't want it and neither did I.

"Gotta eat DiNozzo."

I took a spoonful and swallowed, then spent the next couple of minutes trying to convince my stomach to keep it in there. I repeated that for the next few spoons but finally my stomach gave up the fight and actually started to growl if I didn't eat it quick enough. After the soup Gibbs gave me a bit of plain toast. I was actually starting to feel human again.

Gibbs finished off what I counted as his forth bowl before clearing away the dishes.

"So what now DiNozzo?"

"I guess ice-cream is out of the question."

Gibbs grinned, "That is not what I meant and you know it."

I sat back, "Pick myself up, dust myself off and start again I suppose." I shrugged, "What else is there?"

Gibbs seemed pleased with the answer because he got up, made some noise behind me and then handed a bowl of mint chocolate chip icecream to me.

"My favorite, how did you know?"

"I'm a trained federal agent, DiNozzo, it's my job to know."

We ate our icecream in silence.

Tomorrow was a new day, and it would bring with it a new Tony DiNozzo.


	36. 36 - The Birth of The Playboy

**36 – The Birth of the Playboy**

The next morning I awoke to a silent house. I checked my watch and it was 1000 so Gibbs would already have been at work for some time. I lay there for a while just trying to work out my next step. Every time I thought of Wendy my chest would constrict and my eyes would burn so I tried to avoid thinking about her. It wasn't easy.

I had to get some sort of plan of attack into place. I couldn't stay here at Gibbs but I just wasn't ready to go back to our… my apartment just yet. Besides, I didn't even have a car. Thanks to Gibb's rescue on Saturday, my car was still in Baltimore. Or was it? Was that the unmistakable sound of my car engine outside? I went to the bedroom window and looked out in time to see Gibbs step out from behind the wheel and walk into the house. I went downstairs to thank him and offer him a drive into work.

"Already taken care of DiNozzo, Ducky went with me and should be here any minutes to pick me up. My pickup doesn't go as fast as your car."

"I assume Ducky doesn't drive like a mad man either. Please tell me you took care of my car Gibbs, I don't think I could handle another loss right now."

"Relax, I treated your car like a new born babe."

I snorted, "What would you know about new born babes?" I asked.

"So I assume you aren't coming into work this week?" he said changing the subject.

I shrugged not really knowing what I was doing; after all I was supposed to be frolicking on a beach with my new wife right about now. "I think I will take a few days still if that is OK?"

"You're still on two weeks leave but if you want to come back early let me know, otherwise just take the time." He then looked at me. "How are you off for money?"

I didn't even want to think about how much this non-wedding had cost me. We had tried to keep the costs down where we could but a wedding, no matter how cheap, still costs tens of thousands of dollars and even though Wendy and I shared the costs most of that was sitting on my credit cards, or had drained my savings because we were going to be paying it off… together. Then there was the mortgage I was now fully responsible for, rather than sharing that expense too. "In a word, screwed!"

"Can you afford the mortgage on your place?"

"Oh the mortgage will be fine; food, electricity and gas might be an issue though."

"Well if you need any help let me know. I assume you can't get anything back from the wedding."

I shook my head, we would have been lucky to have had received anything back with a weeks notice but with about 18 hours notice I wouldn't see a penny.

"What about the honeymoon, did you cancel that."

I hadn't even thought about that! I didn't want to be slugged for any more fees so I would call them and cancel the booking. Hopefully I would only be charged for a couple of nights that we didn't turn up.

By now Ducky had finally arrived to take Gibbs into work and after a few "so sorry"s and "thank you"s they left and I was once again left to my own miserable thoughts.

I remembered I had to call up and cancel the honeymoon so I grabbed my phone, found the number and called. When the phone was answered I told them who I was and that I was cancelling the honeymoon suite for the rest of the week. There was a pause before the receptionist said, "I'm sorry sir but that party has arrived and is using the room"

What the? "I'm sorry, _who_ exactly is using the room? Because I sure as hell am not."

The receptionist asked me to wait as she was going to get the manager. After a short pause the manager came on and I once again explained that I wanted to cancel the remainder of the week in the honeymoon suite.

"Are you not happy with the facilities Mr DiNozzo?"

"I'm not_ using_ the facilities. I am not there."

"But Mrs DiNozzo didn't mention any issue this morning when I spoke to her."

"I'm sorry you spoke to _Mrs DiNozzo_. Are you sure about that, because I am pretty sure _I. Didn't. Get. Married!_"

"Oh… I … I…"

I was furious and about to let go with a profanity-laced torrent that would make a Hells Angel member blush, but I managed to regain control. In a controlled, calm and I imagine somewhat scary voice I simply said, "Can you please cancel the room from now and if _Miss Miller_ wishes to remain she can pay for it herself. Can you do that for me?"

"Ah yes Mr DiNozzo, I will talk to Mrs… I mean Miss Miller next time I see her and make those arrangements. I am sorry for the misunderstanding."

"Thank you," I said and hung up. Why that … my mind was spinning with every filthy, disgusting name I could think to call Wendy. She went on our honeymoon… without me! I felt another stab as another emotion knife plunged into my heart via my back. I was furious, hurt, aching and I wanted to break something, anything but this was not my house and these were not my things to break. I grabbed my keys, hopped in the car and drove, and drove and drove, not really knowing where I was going, not having any destination in mind, not caring that I was driving like a maniac.

I was on autopilot so I was surprised when I pulled the car into a car park and realized I had reached my destination. It was late afternoon and as I climbed out of the car and started to walk I could hear the birds chirping their last evening song, the trees' long shadows made the last of the sun's rays strobe as I wandered along the path and then I was finally there; my mother's graveside.

I don't really know why I was here, or what exactly I was hoping to accomplish. I sat down on the grass with my back leaning back against the stone and leant my head back and watched the clouds change color as the sun sent it's last rays of the day through the atmosphere.

I hadn't been here in twenty years. Not since I left for school. Dad used to drag me out here on the anniversary of her death to lay flowers. It was the expected thing to do I suppose. Neither of us would really talk, both of us swept up in our own world of grief. Every time I came out I was overwhelmed again by sadness and anger. Again I would feel _I was not enough_ to keep her here, to keep her happy.

This day I sat here and felt the same feelings of overwhelming sadness and anger but this time these feelings were not directed at my mother. This time Wendy was the cause and today… today I just wanted a mother to talk to and hold me, something I had never really experienced in my life, even when she was alive.

It was ironic that as a child I was not provided with the warmth of a loving parent but felt cold and alone, and here I was today finding comfort in the cold embrace of my mothers marble headstone. Fitting really.

I had long forgiven my mother for what she had done. Mental illness was something you faced nearly every day as a cop so I knew in my mother's mind she was saving not only herself but me also, from the dark hole of despair she was unable to escape and feared she would drag me into.

Today I missed my mother. Not the mother she had been, but the mother she could have been, the mother she _should_ have been.

I sat there for a while, not sure how long but the sun had well and truly set and the crickets and other insects were busy chirping away in the summer evening. I finally stood and placed a hand on her headstone, "I miss you mom." And then I walked away. As sad as I was I actually managed to crack a smile on the way back to the car when a bunch of teens were fooling around with a Oijia Board at a grave when I suddenly appeared from the dark, with my pale sorrowful appearance. They looked up at me, I looked back at them and said, "Boo." I scared the_ shit_ out of them and they went running off in terror. Nasty I know but thoroughly entertaining.

I finally returned to my car and found that Gibbs had called me several times. I needed some time to get myself together before I called him. It had been a rollercoaster of a day and I was not in the mood for his unique brand of caring so I decided to start driving back rather than call him.

It was on the drive home that I slid my new persona into place. I wasn't even really aware of the fact I was doing it.

Never again would I allow someone to get that close to me, to see the real Tony DiNozzo. From now on I would hold people at arm's length, never allowing them too close, never allowing them to see my weaknesses. The people I did allow close to me hurt me, damaged me. I couldn't allow that to happen again, not until these fresh wounds were healed and that felt like it would take a _very_ long time.

On the way home I stopped of to have something to eat. Once again I had gone nearly a whole day without food and I could feel my body starting to weaken. This new Tony couldn't be weak, needed to keep up his strength, besides it was a perfect opportunity to see how well my mask would work at hiding my pain from the world.

I pulled into a diner car park and, like I would just before going undercover, I sat and thought about who I was supposed to be, took a deep breath and became that person. I walked into that diner with my shoulders pulled back, tall, confident and happy. I sat at the bar just as a happy, confident man would and winked and smiled at the waitress behind the counter. By the end of the meal I not only had a full stomach but also a free meal and the phone number of the blonde behind the counter.

Yep this would work.

By the time I had arrived back at Gibbs the walls were up, the mask firmly in place, my armor incapable of being pierced by anyone ever again.

It was the early hours of the morning and I assumed Gibbs would be asleep but as I walked in I heard the familiar sounds coming from the basement. Knowing if I didn't go down to him he would come up to me, I made my way down. Gibbs looked up as I started down the stairs but didn't say anything.

"Thought you'd be in bed by now," I said.

Again he looked at me, "Was waiting to hear from you."

I smiled, "Yeah sorry about that, just went for a drive. Forgot to check my messages."

"Rule 3 DiNozzo."

"I didn't think that counted if I was on holidays."

"It always counts. It's _'never_ be unreachable', not 'never be unreachable unless you are doing something else'."

"Right, won't happen again."

Once again he studied me, "You OK?"

"I'm fine," and I smiled just to prove it. Gibbs eyes narrowed as if he was trying to see inside me. "Well, it's late so I am just going to grab my gear and head home."

"You can stay here tonight you know."

"I know, but I think it is time to head home. Can't hide out here the rest of my life."

Gibbs just nodded not willing to push me any further. As I made my way up to the top of the stairs Gibbs called out again, "Tony." I turned and looked back down at him. "Door's always open if you wanna talk."

"Thanks but I'll be fine. Appreciated your help. I'll be back at work Monday if that is OK?"

"Anytime." I wasn't sure if he was saying I could come to work anytime, or I could come here anytime. Either way the sentiment was appreciated.

I grabbed my gear and headed back to my apartment. It was now only a couple of hours off dawn and I was exhausted so I made my way into my bedroom, and collapsed into bed. Tomorrow was another day.

The rest of the week I spent sorting out my finances, working out a budget and perfecting my persona. On Thursday I received a surprise visit from Wendy's father. I answered the door and he was standing there with a sad expression on his face. I of course greeted him with a smile and offered him a drink. He seemed a little put off but I didn't care. If he was expecting to tell Wendy how sad and pathetic I was then he would be out of luck.

"Tony, Sue and I are just so heartbroken about what happened. It just came as such a shock to us. I want you to know we did everything we could to talk her out of this."

"Well I appreciate that John but it is what it is."

"Well anyway, Wendy asked if I could drop this off to you. It's some legal documents about this here apartment. She is signing it all over to your name so you can do what you want with it. She says she doesn't want any money back or nothing."

"Good to know."

He stood there for another few seconds, an uncomfortable silence surrounding us. "Well I guess I should be going then."

I walked him to the door where he turned around and I could see he had tears in his eyes. "Sue and I really like you Tony, love you in fact. We were so looking forward to having you as a son. I just wish… I wish it was different."

I realized then that I had been so wrapped up in the fact that I had lost Wendy that I didn't realize what else I was missing out on. Her family. Her parents had welcomed me with open arms, her sisters and younger brother enjoyed my company and I theirs. I would miss their Sunday night dinners where I _finally_ understood what it was to have a real family. Yes I had lost much more than just a wife on Saturday. I could feel the fury rising again but it was safely hidden behind my mask.

Instead I just smiled, "So do I John." I closed the door and only when I was alone did I allow my mask to slip and allow the fresh tears to fall. Only in the sanctuary of my home would I allow myself to really feel.

And that was when I realized that I didn't really consider this 'our' place anymore; it was 'my' place. I mean let's face it; Wendy was only in it a couple of times when we inspected it. After I moved in she didn't come down again because she was too busy with the wedding plans. We had never eaten here together, never snuggled on the couch, never made love. There were no memories of her to haunt me here. I decided I was going to keep it. This was _my_ home.

That evening I had decided I was sick of being alone. I didn't really want to catch up with Gibbs, Ducky or Abby and have to endure their pitiful glances or their futile attempts at making me forget something that would be indelibly etched into my memories forever. No tonight I needed to find comfort in the arms of another. And I did. I don't remember her name and I am pretty sure the name I gave her was a fake as was my phone number. She may have been a lovely person, perfect for me in every way but I didn't care. I left before she woke.

I did the same thing the next night, and the next, and the next; a string of nameless women. I wasn't interested in small talk; I wasn't interested in their likes or dislikes; I said I would call them, but I didn't. I humped them and I dumped them.

This was when Tony DiNozzo, Playboy Extraordinaire was born.


	37. 37 - Goodbye Nana Jo

**AN: This is a long one people! **

**So the reason I have come up with this story is that I think it is obvious Tony has money but if it is not from his father then where is it from. Obviously he lives in a nice apartment, nice furniture, all the mod cons in the kitchen, and when he was unemployed buying a last minute ticket to Israel didn't seem to faze him. Also, once Ziva was no longer in danger he was obviously no longer under NCIS jurisdiction (and financial assistance) in his months long search around the middle east looking for Ziva. Here is how I think he got his money.**

**I am really interested to know what you think of this chapter, so please keep the reviews coming.**

**37 - Goodbye Nana Jo**

I returned to work the next Monday and from the get go I had my mask firmly in place. Of course by the time I arrived it had spread like wild fire that my wedding had not gone ahead but the details had apparently not been forthcoming from Gibbs, Ducky or Abby. People were dying to know what happened and when I was greeted with "Sorry to hear you called off the wedding," or "What did you do to piss her off?" or "You saw the light just in time hey," and I was happy enough to allow any misconceptions to remain uncorrected going so far as to encourage their belief. Of course, the fact that I came in with a beaming smile and a nonchalant attitude didn't help dispel those incorrect rumors. And the laughs and jokes I shared at my own expense just confirmed everyone's thoughts on the matter. I wouldn't allow the overhead comments of "He isn't even pretending to be sad, what an asshole," or "He must have screwed around on her," to make a dint, not until I was at home anyway.

If Gibbs noticed my change in demeanor from the Saturday before to today he chose not to say anything, he did however keep shooting looks my way as if he was expecting me to crumble, or trying to work out where the blubbering, snot producing Tony had gone. Well he was tucked away safe and sound, Gibbs.

As expected I was sent down to Abby's lab fairly early, Gibbs wanting just as much as I did to get that particular meeting over and done with. She saw me enter and came running as fast as her Frankenstein inspired footwear would allow but before she could engulf me in a heartfelt hug I held up my hands and stopped her. "Abby, I'm fine."

She tilted her head and looked at me, "No you're not Tony, you couldn't possibly be after what she did to you." Again she walked forward but again I stopped her.

"Look Abby, I know you mean well but really, I don't need a hug. I just need to get the lab results and take them up to Gibbs. Can we do that?"

"OK Tony," she turned and walked back to her desk and picked up the folder I had been sent down for. "Tony, if you ever need to talk or want to, you know… hang out."

"I won't, but thank you. Really Abby, I'm fine. Shit happens, it's no big deal." I took the file from her but before I could turn around she threw her arms around me whether I wanted her to or not.

I just stood there, not hugging her back, clenching my jaw and going through my mental checklist of mask fixture while she clung to me, "You can pretend this doesn't upset you all you want Tony, but I know you, I know you are hurting and when you are ready, I will be here waiting. Anytime, day or night."

I didn't really know what to say to that. Wanting to trust her but not willing to allow myself to be hurt again. So I walked away.

Gibbs also sent me down to autopsy as well, again to retrieve a 'report' but at least Ducky or Gerald didn't try to hug me. "Ah there you are my boy, good to see you back at work."

"Good to be back Ducky, I was going a little stir crazy at home."

"Yes I can imagine you would find that quite tedious. A busy Tony is a happy Tony." He turned to me with a stricken look on his face, "I'm sorry my boy, I didn't mean to be so flippant. I don't want to make out that your pain is so easily ignored, please forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive Duck, I'm fine. Life goes on and all that."

"Yes, Gibbs did mention that you seem to have made a remarkable recovery following your broken betrothal." He looked at me then as if studying on of his samples. "Yes, remarkable so it would _seem_."

OK, so Gibbs had come down to talk to Ducky about me. Just great.

"What can I say, Duck; you can't keep a DiNozzo down. You got that report for me?"

As Abby had done earlier he turned around and retrieved a report from his desk and then handed it to me, but unlike Abby there was no flinging of arms around my neck and for that I will be eternally grateful. "You know, Anthony, it helps to talk to someone in times of personal upheaval. My door is always open should you wish to have a chat over a cup of Earl Grey."

"Thanks Ducky but I really prefer English Breakfast. Thanks for the file." And once again I found myself walking away from someone who just wanted to help me.

I threw myself into my work, not that I had much choice because a week after my return we were once again back to a two-man team. Turns our working one on one with Gibbs for the week and a half I was away was too much for young Hanna. Oh well, just as well really, the less who knew the old Tony the better besides, the extra money I was getting with all the overtime was a blessing considering my financial predicament.

I found myself getting into a fairly predictable rhythm. On the days where 'normal' office hours applied (which was not often on Gibb's team) I would come in at 0800, work through until 1700 and then go to a bar, have sex with someone (anyone), return to work around midnight, go home at 0200 or 0300 try to get some sleep and start it all again the next day. Weekends were the hardest, but if we weren't working a case that had me in the office I would try and hook up with a woman and spend as much time in her bed as possible. The more time I was away from home the less time I spent trying to fight my OCD. I managed to have it mostly under control pretty quickly this time. Obviously the controls I learnt all those years ago at school still worked (for now).

On the outside it looked like I was as happy as a pig in mud. Guys around the office were envious of my continual stream of women; and my continual stream of women disgusted the ladies around the office (and more than a few of those 'disgusted' women were more than willing to find out for themselves how I kept them coming back for more).

Yes the old memories of the Tony 'engaged-and-can't-wait-to-get-married' DiNozzo were fading fast around NCIS. Soon he would be all but forgotten and replaced with the Tony 'couldn't-make-a-commitment-if-it-killed-him' DiNozzo or Tony 'why-did-Gibbs-hire-this-dumb-ass-again?' DiNozzo. Only a few held tightly to the original version and they were unwilling to forget him no matter how much I tried to convince them he never existed. I will always be grateful to Gibbs, Ducky and Abby for holding on to that version of me when I couldn't.

Three months after my non-nuptials I received a phone call while I was at a particularly grizzly crime scene. "DiNozzo," I answered automatically without checking the ID assuming it was Ducky or Gerald asking for directions again.

"Anthony, hello, it's your Uncle Jeremy. How are you my lad?"

"Oh, wow, hi Uncle Jeremy, I'm good. This is a surprise. Is everything OK?"

"Well actually, no I'm afraid it isn't. I sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I'm afraid Mum, your Nana Jo, passed away tonight."

I was shocked. I had only been speaking to her a month ago after news had reached her of my split with Wendy and she seemed her usual indestructible self. "What happened?" By now I could tell I had Gibbs attention but he was trying hard not to be obvious about it. I left the room to go outside for some privacy.

"It was a massive stroke. Thankfully it was quite quick and relatively painless." I could hear my uncle starting to choke up at the other end of the line.

"I'm so sorry Jeremy. How are you and Clive holding up?"

"Oh well I'm fine, you know stiff upper lip and all that. Clive isn't doing as well. Anyway, the funeral is being held on Monday and I know if would mean the world to her if you could attend. I know it is a lot to ask with you being so far away and busy in your new job but if you would make it, it really would be appreciated… by all of us."

"I can't make any promises but I will try."

"Well that is all we can ask. Let us know when you can and we are more than happy to picked you up from the airport."

"OK, I'll let you know. Goodbye Uncle Jeremy."

"Goodbye Anthony."

I stood where I was for a few moments, shocked and saddened by the news. My Nana Jo was dead. Memories of her flooded my mind and for a brief moment my mask slipped just in time for Ducky to arrive on scene. "Is everything OK Anthony, something appears to have upset you."

I quickly shook myself out of my reverie and returned to work throwing, "I'm fine Ducky," over my shoulder as I walked away.

I continued to work then not wanting to really think about my loss, and trying to ignore the looks that were being thrown my way by Gibbs and Ducky. I also wasn't ready to ask Gibbs for time off and the barrage of questions that was sure to follow. We arrived back at the NCIS and by the time we handed off the evidence to Abby, did our background checks and followed up the most pertinent leads it was well past 2300 and I was ready to head home to bed.

I decided though that if I wanted to go to England this weekend I really had to ask Gibbs now if I could have the time I wanted. Right, here goes, just like ripping off a band-aid.

"Ah Gibbs, I was wondering if…"

"The answers yes DiNozzo."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask you."

"You were asking for some time off weren't you?" he said looking up at me.

"Well yes but you don't even know why."

"Don't need to know. Is it important to you?"

"Yes, very."

"That's good enough for me," he responded.

"How do you know I don't just want to have a dirty weekend with someone."

Gibbs just smiled, "Firstly, this is something you are not really looking forward too or you would have asked straight away, secondly if you were asking for time off to screw around you know you would have been looking for another job next week."

"True. It will hopefully only be a few days."

"That's fine."

I turned to pack up my gear and leave but I couldn't leave it at that. I felt like I owed him an explanation whether he wanted one or not. It was the least I could offer him for his quiet but appreciated support. "My grandmother died this morning, well last night her time. The funeral is on Monday in London."

"Sorry for your loss DiNozzo," then he looked up at me again, "my door's always open you know," and with that simple statement I felt my resolve weaken just a tiny bit. I didn't matter how much I had tried to keep Gibbs, and everyone else at arms length over the last few months, he was still be there when I needed him, for when_ I_ was ready. But I wasn't ready, not yet.

I booked my ticket that night for a Saturday evening flight, which would arrive Sunday morning London time. Unfortunately due to the fact it was only a couple of days before the flight it was a full fair ticket. There goes another chunk onto my credit card. I was starting to think that keeping my unit was a mistake. Maybe if I sold it I would get enough back to pay off the cards and start again. I would call a Real Estate Agent next week.

When I arrived at the airport, there was a surprise waiting in the shape of a duck, a Mallard to be precise. "What are_ you_ doing here Ducky?" I asked when he saw me approach.

"Ah there you are. I am sorry I didn't call but I have been dying to return to the mother-land but dread flying on my own, and with Mother not as healthy as she used to be I was worried that I may never get back there. Once I heard you would be flying to London I couldn't help but make a spontaneous trip myself. I hope you don't mind do you."

Never bullshit a bullshitter Ducky, and this was a big old steaming turd. This man had circumnavigated the globe at least 17 times by my calculations based on his stories, so the idea of him dreading flying on his own was absolutely laughable. I gave him my '_you don't seriously expect me to believe that_' look but he refused to meet my eyes and instead said, "Well we must hurry and book in I suppose," and he headed off towards to the check in counters. However, he headed towards the first class line and my ticket was for coach so it looked like he may have been telling the truth and I wouldn't have to endure the ME's well meaning but prying question for the eight-hour flight after all.

I handed my ticket over to the attractive check in lady and was about to try out my best DiNozzo lines on this attractive brunette when she said, "Oh you have been upgraded to first class sir. You can head in via that door over there."

"Really? But I bought a coach ticket."

"Yes the refund will be put through within seven days for that transaction. Have a lovely flight."

Confused I looked over to where she indicated and saw Ducky waving me over.

"Come on Anthony, we need to get going. I hope you don't mind but the idea of sitting all alone up in First Class seemed quite boring so I bought you a seat next to mine, my shout of course. It will give us a chance to catch up."

And there it was. There was no escaping him now. Why did I feel I was set up in some nefarious plot devised by the devious Leroy Jethro Gibbs? God this would be a long flight.

We boarded the flight and made our way to our seats. I must admit I had missed flying first class but was concerned as to how much this would cost, not in dollars but in pieces of my mind. Ducky had an uncanny ability to get information out of me without me even realizing. Regaling me with his verbal diarrhea until you are answering his questions just to get him to shut up. Hold on! Who does that sound like? Oh yeah, _me_! Great he was using my own tools against me.

After we settled in to our seats and the plane pulled away from the gates he said, "I am sorry to hear of your grandmother's passing. Where you close?"

And it begins. I sighed wondering if I could keep the Doctor at bay for the next eight hours with answers that were truthful but only just brushed the surface of my true feelings. I doubted it, but I was going to try. "I have only seen her a handful of times since my mother passed away."

"You were quite young when that happened weren't you?"

"Yes, quite."

Ducky paused, no doubt realizing that I had worked out his ploy and rethinking his approach. "I couldn't imagine losing my mother at such a young age. I mean I know I complain about having her around but it truly is wonderful having that support you know. But I suppose your father was there for you though wasn't he."

I snorted in response.

"What was that?"

"Nothing I was clearing my throat," I replied with a fake cough.

"Hmm, so we were talking about your father. Will he be attending I would very much like to meet him."

"I doubt it Ducky. He and my mother's family didn't exactly get on."

"Oh and why was that?"

"Let's just say they had a difference of opinion as to my upbringing."

"Dear me, that must have been very difficult for you to be put in that position." I just shrugged in response. "I noticed that your father didn't need to be turned away at the church after you and Wendy… well you know. I imagine you managed to get hold of him in the morning."

"Yep, he finally answered one of my calls."

"Gibbs didn't mention seeing him when he arrived at your room. I would have thought he would be there to support you in your hour of need."

"My father was otherwise engaged I am afraid. He wouldn't have been there even if there had been a wedding."

Ducky actually looked taken aback. "Are you saying he wasn't going to attend his only son's wedding?"

I could feel the anger I had put off since my call to my father that day start to arrive. Great! "Well, it's not like I went to all of his weddings, not that I was invited to most of them. I suppose he just assumed he would make it to another one of mine. It just pisses me off…" I stopped, not wanting to discuss it any further with Ducky.

But he wasn't having any of it, "What is that annoys you so?"

"Nothing, just forget I said anything."

"As you wish but holding on to anger is not healthy you know." He finally stopped talking and looked out his window. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes hoping this part of the conversation was over. I looked at my watch. Good grief we were only ten minutes into the flight and already he had me almost say something I didn't want to. This man was good; he would make a good shrink.

"You never did come down for that cup of tea and a chat. I even bought English Breakfast just for you," he started up again.

"Been busy catching bad guys Duck."

"Well surely you could have snuck away for ten minutes. Gibbs wouldn't have minded I am sure." I remained silent. "I notice you seem to have been dating quite a bit. Are you sure you are ready to jump back into another relationship?"

"I am not jumping into any _relationship_, trust me. Will be a cold day in hell before I do that again."

"So why are you dating so many young women if you are not interested in a relationship with them?" I raised my eyebrows and shot him a look. "Ah I see. Well while that might make you happy in the short term Anthony, I doubt it will allow you any real comfort. True comfort can only be obtained from trusted friends and family."

"Yeah well I am running pretty short on both of those so looks like short term happiness is the most I can expect right now."

Ducky looked at me and I could see hurt in his eyes. "I'm sorry you feel that way Anthony. I understand you seem to have issues when it comes to family, but I assure you, you have friends; friends who care about you very much; friends who can't help but be worried about how you are shutting everyone out."

Great, half hour in and I had already hurt Ducky's feelings. Good going DiNozzo! "I'm sorry Ducky, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings but, you know…"

"No Anthony, I don't know. _Please_ tell me!"

"It's just that I have had a pretty crappy year Ducky. Twelve months ago I was on top of the world. I was with a woman I loved, my job was great, I had a partner I trusted and now… I have been betrayed by the very people I trusted the most, not just in the last year, but before that; right back to Mummy and Daddy dearest. I just … The only person I trust not to stab me in the back is myself, so I'm sorry if I seem to have become distant from you all but I am just sick of getting screwed over."

"We wouldn't do that to you Anthony."

"Yeah, well I've heard that before." I sighed just wanting this trip to be over already… only seven and a half hours to go. "I'm sorry Duck, I don't mean to be rude but I haven't been getting a great deal of sleep lately and I was just hoping to have a nap right about now."

I reclined my chair and rolled my body away from Ducky so he couldn't see that sleep would once again elude me.

"Of course my boy. Sleep well."

I managed to hold off Ducky's gentle prodding by feigning sleep for another two hours until it was time for our meal. He must have decided to let the emotional probing go for now and instead managed to regale me with stories of his misspent youth and ever increasingly unbelievable stories of his time spent travelling the world. The remainder of the flight was quite pleasurable and by the time we landed I was quite happy to have passed the time listening to Ducky's tall tales.

As promised Uncle Jeremy was there to pick me up and I introduced Ducky to my uncle. When my Uncle Jeremy asked where he was staying Ducky admitted that he hadn't really had time to consider his options and asked if there was a reasonable hotel in the area.

"Don't be ridiculous, you can stay with us at Clive's. There is plenty of room."

"Oh I couldn't possibly, you all have such a personal time ahead I would be nothing but an intrusion to your time of mourning."

"Rubbish, my mother would be the first to open her home to you and I would be honoring her memory by doing the same. Come on now Dr Mallard, into the car with you."

"Well that is most kind, most kind indeed. I must tell you about the time that I managed to stay with the Danish Royal Family in Copenhagen…"

We arrived at Uncle Clive's estate and it was just how I remembered it. On the drive up Jeremy had informed me that Clive was not as well as he had been, having refused to take his medication over the last few months and having taken his mother's death very hard. Crispin had been staying with him but unless they could get him back on his medication again, it would soon become too much for him and they would have to consider hospitalization again. We all exited the car and the man himself, Uncle Clive, ran down the front stairs and greeted us in a velour robe that he had obviously been wearing for some time judging by the smell and stains, a pair of Wellington boots and apparently no underwear. The change in him since my last visit two years ago was shocking.

"Anthony, is that you?" He rushed forward and grabbed me in a bear hug, feeling very bear like in his furry robe (man I hoped the flaps at the front were still closed!). He pulled back but held my head between his hands and looked intensely at me. "She's gone. They took her away."

"Who took her Uncle Clive?"

"The mole people. The mole people took her. They told me it was a stroke but it wasn't. It was _them_!"

"OK, well how about we go inside and you can tell me all about them after you take your medication?" I could see Ducky watching our interaction intensely.

Clive's anger flared, "I don't need medication! They give me the medication so I can't see the truth. Can't see that they are taking everyone I love from me. First Father and then Emily and now Mother. You know _they_ took your mother don't you? You know that don't you Anthony. Our beautiful Emily! They say she _killed_ herself but she didn't, she _wouldn't_ do that. Not to you and not to me. No, they took her, underground to their lair. We need to find them and free them. They must be so scared." His eyes welled with tears his anger having morphed into fear and then sadness. He whispered between sobs, "They would be so scared down there."

I was shocked to see how bad my uncle was, and embarrassed to have Ducky bare witness to my family insanity. Jeremy gave both Ducky and I an apology and escorted Clive back inside and back to his room.

I looked over at Ducky who was watching me intently, "So that's my uncle Clive."

"An interesting chap," was Ducky's only response.

We settled into our rooms and Ducky asked if I would join him in a walk around the grounds. As much as I didn't want another deep and meaningful talk from him, I could think of no polite reason to refuse his request and so we walked. Surprisingly though, there was little by way of talking. Surely this glimpse into my life must have him just dying to know more, especially that little morsel about my mother killing herself. So glad_ that _came up within two minutes of arriving. But if he was curious he kept it to himself, instead telling me the names of some of the trees and flowers that we didn't have in the states and their ancient medicinal uses, and also some of the local history I didn't know about. All in all it was a pleasant walk and it managed to alleviate some of the stress that had started to build up since we arrived. Maybe that had been his purpose all along.

We enjoyed a traditional English meal that evening of roast lamb and vegetables with mint jelly followed by steamed golden syrup pudding with custard for desert. Ducky couldn't stop complementing Crispin's wife, Sandra, on her cooking and how different a roast tasted in England compared to America. I couldn't taste the difference personally but apparently everyone at the table agreed with him. After dinner everyone retired to their rooms except Ducky and I who were still on Washington time and wouldn't be tired for hours (well I was always tired lately but sleep I knew would elude me until dawn). Ducky helped himself to a book from the library and sat down in front of the roaring fire while I made my way upstairs to my Nana's rooms and let myself in. I had always felt welcomed into Jo's room and tonight was no exception, even if she wasn't here to give permission. I walked around and picked up a few personal items that bought back memories, I looked at the photographs on the mantle. I picked up a photo album she had on her bedside table and took a seat in her rocking chair that she placed near the window allowing her to look out over the fields.

I started turning he pages and saw photos of Nana as a young woman, gradually aging as the pages flicked over. There was a photo of her with my grandfather on their wedding day. He had died shortly after I was born so I never actually met him. I could see that he had the same eyes as my mother and myself. I continued flicking through the pages, stopping at the photos of my mother as a baby and as she grew up, the only girl with two older brothers. There was a photo of her playing the piano on stage with the whole orchestra behind her. What I wouldn't give to hear her play one more time, to see her up on the stage performing for an audience. Sighing I turned the page again and there was the wedding photo. Mum and Dad smiling, so happy, with both sets of grandparents flanking them.

"Your mother was a beautiful woman Tony." I jumped. I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn't heard Ducky come up behind me. "Sorry my boy, didn't mean to startle you," he said laying a hand on my shoulder.

"How did you know that was my mom?" I asked looking at the photo and wondering what had given it away.

"Well I must admit it was your father that gave it away. You really are the spitting image of him. It didn't take much to conclude the stunning blonde with your eyes would therefore be your mother." "

Hmm, maybe you should be the investigator Ducky." I turned the next page and there I was. Little baby Anthony. "Wow."

Ducky came and stood over my shoulder to see what had grabbed my interest. "Oh my, weren't you a little chubby bubby."

"Yep, looks like I have always been keen on my food, doesn't it."

Ducky laughed, "Yes indeed, but that smile I would recognize in an instant. Not that I have seen it that much lately."

I didn't understand what he was talking about. If anything I was smiling too much these days. "I smile all the time!"

"Yes, but not with your eyes Anthony. You might be able to fool most people, but not those that really know you. See how happy you are in that photo. That is a smile I have not seen for a few months now. It's a shame. I do miss that smile."

I didn't really know what to say. Thankfully I was saved from having to say anything as Ducky decided it was time to go to bed and bid me good night. I continued to leaf through the rest of the album but I kept coming back to the only one of my mother and myself. I didn't have any photos of her so I was trying desperately to etch these into my memory. It is strange that if you had asked me to recall my mother's face, I would have struggled to provide any sort of detail, but as soon as I saw the photo of her I knew her instantly. Ducky described her as beautiful but to me she was simply Mom.

I sat there until the sun started to lighten the horizon and I decided I needed to go to my room and at least try to get a few hours sleep before the funeral at 11:00. T

he funeral was a proper affair. My Uncle Jeremy did the eulogy while a few of her closest friends spoke of tales that made us all laugh and cry in equal measures. I had been asked to be a pallbearer along with Jeremy, my cousin Crispin, his two brothers-in-law, and one of my grandmother's nephews. Uncle Clive was too unwell to carry the responsibility. I considered it an honor to be asked. Ducky had asked if he could attend and when I asked why he wasn't off visiting the "mother-country" as per his original cover story he simply told me that sometimes the best trips were about the people you meet along the way, rather than the destination. "And I have quite enjoyed meeting your family. They are good people. Not surprising considering you are such a good egg."

"Yeah well this particular carton has a few scrambled ones in for good measure," I said nodding towards my Uncle Clive as he started stripping out of his suit as soon as he was outside the church. "I better go over and help Crispin keep him decent, at least until we get home."

We managed to wrangle Uncle Clive into the car and were off back to his home for the wake. Crispin and I chatted on the trip home and I found out that he and his family had moved in with Clive about six months ago, as it was getting too hard for Nana Jo to handle him on her own. I had to appreciate his dedication to our uncle and envy how close they all were as a family unit. I couldn't imagine my father doing something like that for me, and to be honest I couldn't imagine doing something like that for my own father. Crispin and I may not be best friends, but I loved him for what he was doing for Clive. Family is complicated.

A couple of hours into the wake Jeremy asked me if I would join him and some of the family in the den. Turns out it was time to read the will and I had been named as a beneficiary. Apart from Clive, Jeremy and his three children, there were the two nephews who had also been pallbearers and a few other close friends of Nana Jo.

The family lawyer started as was standard, "This is the last will and testament of Josephine Emily Paddington (nee Robarts) and I do hereby bequeath unto…" I sat politely and listened as Nana Jo left various personal items to her dearest friends, keepsakes to her nephews and nieces and finally it came to her grandchildren. "To each of my grandchildren I leave a sum of twenty thousand pounds each." Yes! I didn't want to seem materialistic but this was a _godsend._ It was as if Nana Jo was still watching over me and taking care of me in a way my own parents had been unable to. I was trying to work out the conversion from pounds to US dollars in my head and working out if that was enough to pay of my debt, and I wasn't really listening to the reminder until Uncle Jeremy nudged me and told me I might want to pay attention to the next bit.

I didn't really know why, I mean I was over the moon with what she had left me but I sat up and listened anyway.

"As to the remainder of my estate, I leave all my remaining cash and property assets to my three children, Clive, Jeremy and Emily to be split evenly between them. In relation to my late daughter's portion, I bequeath all of Emily's inheritance be passed to her only child, Anthony DiNozzo." _I'm sorry, what?_ Did I just hear that correctly? I was stunned. Everyone else stood and started to mingle seemingly unsurprised by the outcome, but I just remained in my seat.

Jeremy leaned over, "Weren't expecting that now were you?"

I must have looked like a stunned mullet because he laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. "It won't fix everything, but at least you never need worry about money anymore. Not if you're smart that is."

"I don't mean to be crass but…?"

"How much?" Jeremy said. I nodded. "By the time we sell off her properties I would imagine you would be looking at about one and a half million give or take."

_"One and a half million dollars!_"

"No, pounds my boy."

"So I would get a third of that!"

"What? No, no, no, one and a half _is_ your third. The whole estate is valued at about five million pound, less what she has bequeathed to others gives us approximately four and a half million. One and a half is Emily's and now your share."

I felt like my head was about to explode and judging by Jeremy's face he thought the same thing. "Oh my, this does seem to have given you quite the shock hasn't it? Let me go get you a drink."

He left the room in search of what I hoped was a very large serve of whisky. Everyone else had also filed out of the room leaving me sitting alone still in shock.

"Oh my goodness Anthony, is everything OK? You look just ghastly!" Ducky exclaimed upon entering.

Jeremy returned with my drink and upon handing it to me explained to Ducky, "Oh he is just a little surprised Ducky. Turns out he had quite the windfall he was not expecting."

"Really? Well that is good news. I do hope it comes close to covering the debt from the wedding, that would be a huge weight of your shoulders wouldn't it."

Jeremy laughed, "Well I do say it would cover that, wouldn't you Anthony."

I finally laughed along with Jeremy, "Yep, got that covered."

Jeremy then left us alone to go back to the guests of the wake. Ducky remained silent waiting for me to speak first. He must have been curious but I will give Ducky his due, he was not one to stick his nose in unless invited. If the roll had been reversed I would have been snooping around every nook and cranny trying to find out information. "Ducky, what would one and a half million pounds be worth in US dollars? I can't seem to remember the exchange rate."

"Well you would be looking at two million two hundred thousand dollars, or there about," then it dawned on him. "Oh _my_!"

I could feel the grin spreading over my face and Ducky smiled as well, happy for my good fortune. My mind started racing with all the possibilities that his opened up for me. I could travel the world, I could quit my job, I could get it in cash and roll around in it, I could just run away and start anew… But, as tempting as that last option may be, I knew I wouldn't do any of those things. No I would be smart about this. Talk to my father… No scratch that. He could never know about this. No talk to Steve, he was an economist type person, surely he would know something or someone.

Eventually my fog lifted and I was once again able to perform normal human functions such as speaking, walking and I tucked my good fortune away for contemplation at a later date. After all it could take months before the estate would be finalized.

"Well you should probably get back out there. There was a particularly lovely lady asking after you. Rebecca I believed she said her name was. Said you and she go way back."

The rest of the day went by in a blur of names and faces, all offering their condolences and trying to speak to Josephine's mysterious American grandchild. From all accounts she spoke of me often and fondly and truly regrets the time she missed out with me when contact had been lost. Ducky managed to entertain and win hearts amongst the gathered throng as well and even managing to gain a few more pen pals whom he promised to remain in contact.

Overall it was a pleasant affair and one that I think Nana Jo would have been happy with. The last guests remained until well into the evening, not leaving until they were well and truly inebriated. It was, after all, the British way to celebrate the memory of the dearly departed.

Ducky and I were booked on a flight late the next morning that would get us back to the US Tuesday evening and ready for work Wednesday. This evening I joined Ducky when he retired to the Library and having already partaken in a few celebratory drinks myself I was not in the mood to be alone. I opened a bottle of Port and poured Ducky and I both a drink. We sat quietly sipping our drink staring at the fire until Ducky finally broke the spell.

"So who was that lovely lady asking after you today? Rebecca was it?"

I smiled from the memories, "Yep. Rebecca McKinnon. We met when I came here just before my senior year."

"Ah, a Summer Love I take it."

"You could say that. She was my first, kind of." I could feel my tongue loosen thanks to the alcohol and warm fire.

"What do you mean 'kind of'?" he asked.

"Well, she was the first woman I _wanted_ to have sex with."

"But not your first?" He asked, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"No, that was Mrs Bowen, one of my step mother's friends. She was a Rockette… well she _used_ to be a Rockette apparently."

"And how old were you?"

"Just turned fifteen."

"And she?" I shrugged, "I don't know, late thirties, forties maybe." I knew I was saying too much, telling Ducky things I would never say without the alcohol coursing through my veins but I didn't care. I just needed to talk. For the first time in months I wanted to talk to someone, wanted to open up about anything, _everything_.

Ducky could tell this was the perfect opportunity to get me to open up, not only from the drink but because he could tell I needed to. "Did your father know this had happened?"

"Nooo... well I don't think so. We pretty much hated each other's guts back then. He would have assumed it was my fault."

"I'm sure he wouldn't have thought any such thing."

"No he would have, he had every right to. I was a little shit then. I'd been suspended from school for drinking, was doing some drugs, even stole a car. I got expelled from school a couple of month after that. Did something _really_ stupid. That's why I was sent to Military School. Dad just couldn't control me anymore. It was either that or I would have ended up in juvie… or dead."

"Well, we have all done or said things we regret, Anthony. That is why the past is behind us and our future is ahead." I nodded in agreement. After a while he broke the silence again, "Was your mother…? Was she like your uncle?"

I sighed, "In a way I suppose she was. I mean she wasn't accusing mole people of running the world but she was… troubled. I don't have many memories of my mother but the ones that I do, well, very few of them are happy ones. She was obviously deeply depressed. I can see that now but at the time I just assumed that she wasn't happy because of me, you know. Like I wasn't the child she wanted me to be, that I was a disappointment to her… Like I wasn't _enough."_ I downed the last of my drink and got up to pour another, refusing to let Ducky see the tears threatening to spill.

"She wasn't on any medication? She wasn't seeing a doctor to help her?"

"Not that I know of, and I kind of think that may be part of the reason behind her family's dislike of my father. I think they though he should have done more for her, helped her out the way they helped Clive. Can't say I disagree with them. You wouldn't know it now but Clive, when he is on his meds, is as normal as you and me. I would have liked to have known Mom normal."

"I am sure she would have like that too."

Again we sat silently. "I worry I will turn out like her," I said, almost whispering.

"And why do you feel that?"

I shrugged, "Well I'm not exactly without my own issues. I don't know if you know this but I have OCD, suffer from insomnia, I don't like physical contact unless… you know, I can change my personality at a drop of a hat so convincingly even _I_ start to doubt who I really am. Instead of talking to the people who care about me I built up a huge brick wall so no one can see inside. Sometimes I worry I am only a bad hair day away from my genetic mania."

"Just because there is mental illness in your family does not mean that it will affect you Anthony, in fact the chances are quite remote. Have you ever spoken to anyone about how you feel?"

"Not really. I had to see a shrink when I went to Rhode Island because they wouldn't release me from the hospital without knowing I had psych support. He helped with my OCD and stuff but we didn't get into if I was going to go flying over a cuckoo's nest or not. Other than that I really haven't seen anyone."

"Well if this is something you are concerned about, no matter how unlikely, maybe you should consider finding another therapist? Besides, in your line of work it would certainly be beneficial even if it was just to discuss your job."

"Maybe. I'll think about it."

"Well if you do I would be more than happy to help you find someone. I have actually been studying a bit of Psychology myself, wanting to add Forensic Profiling to my repertoire, so I am sure we could find someone reputable through my contacts should you so wish."

"Thanks Ducky. I appreciate that." I reflected back on all I had said. "Wow you must just think I am pretty screwed up in the head right now."

"Absolutely not, Anthony. No what I see is a man who has doubts about himself and about those around him. You have overcome adversity and abandonment and have come out all the better and stronger for it. I may not _agree_ with your coping mechanisms but I can certainly _understand_ why you use them. I just hope that you will continue in this vein of openness you have shared with me and instead of shutting Jethro, Abby and myself out, you allow us in, even if it is just a small amount. You are someone who needs an anchor or you may just float away and I can assure you, _none of us_ wants that. You are dearly loved, my boy. Of that I can assure you." He leaned forward and patted my knee almost as if physical contact might just reinforce in my mind what he was saying.

I wanted to believe him, I really did.

The warm fire and Port were starting to work their magic and for the first time in months I actually felt like sleep was not something I wouldn't have to fight to achieve. "Let's get you up and into bed my boy, you look like you are half asleep."

We made our way up to the room and after I toed off my shoes and removed the minimum amount of clothing necessary to sleep, I crawled into bed. Just before Ducky left my room I spoke again, "Ducky, can we keep all of this… you know what I have said… can we keep that between us? I know Gibbs sent you to keep tabs on me but I don't want him thinking any less of me."

"I can assure you that nothing you have told me will pass these lips, and as for Jethro, he may not say it but he thinks the world of you and I highly doubt he would think any less of you than I do. In fact I think he might even be more proud of you for what you have faced… if that is at all possible." He switched off the overhead light and went to leave the room. "Sleep tight Anthony, I think you deserve a good night's sleep at the very least."

I drifted off into a deep sleep and for the first time ever my dreams of my mother were a pleasant affair, dreams of how it could have been, how it_ should_ have been and not what it was.


	38. 38 - Never Apologize Unless

**AN: Only a short one this time after my monster last chapter. Enjoy.**

**38 – Never Apologize… Unless…**

Our return flight from England was quiet, having spoken more than I intended the night before, Ducky and I sat in relative silence for the duration of the flight. Not in a, "Oh god I can't believe I said all that, I am so embarrassed," silence but in a, "I am so relieved I got that off my chest and now am happy to sit with my friend in comfortable silence," silence. We chatted about inconsequential things such as the movies available to watch, an article in the inflight magazine that interested us, or how nice the stewardess's legs would look wrapped around my hips. OK so Ducky did hit me with his magazine after that comment (but I still noticed him checking out her legs and am pretty sure he was thinking the same thing).

We returned to work the next day and as soon as we arrived Gibbs was off to "grab some coffee" but in reality I know he was off to see Ducky to find out how I was. Judging by the dark storm cloud over his head when he came back, Ducky was true to his word and kept my deep dark secrets to himself.

I walked up to Gibbs desk and his head remained down pretending to look intently at his computer screen, "You know it was the strangest thing, Ducky was at the airport when I arrived. Decided he was going to have a spontaneous trip back to the UK."

"Did he now? Told me he wanted a couple of days but didn't say where he was going."

"Oh? 'Cause you know what's funny is that I kept wondering how did Ducky know which flight I was on? I mean he would have had to have found out that info to be able to book himself a seat. You wouldn't know anything about that would you Boss?"

"Can't say that I do, DiNozzo."

"Liar!" Gibbs head shot up expecting to have a very angry DiNozzo on his hands to deal with, but instead I stood before him grinning from ear to ear.

"Well maybe I might have helped him find out." Was Gibbs actually looking _abashed?_

"Hmm. Anyway, we had a very nice time, all things considered."

"Well, good. I'm glad to hear it." Now he was looking just a _little_ to proud of himself.

Now came the angry face, "Don't you _ever_ meddle in my personal life like that again, am I clear _Jethro_?"

Gibbs looked like he was about to burr up but something in my eyes made him stop. He knew I was serious. As much as I appreciated the sentiment, the invasion into my privacy was something I was _not_ happy about. Instead he nodded and simply said, "Understood Tony."

"Thank you." I walked back to my desk and took a seat. "Oh by the way, I bought you a present but left it at home. How about I come over tonight and give it to you… I'll bring the beer?"

Gibbs grinned then, "Sure, I think I have a couple of steaks I can cook up."

That evening I arrived to the smell of beef sizzling over an open fire. We cracked our first beers and I gave him my little gift. It was a Big Ben wind up toy that moved on little feet and played '_God Save the Queen'_. It was by far the tackiest gift I could find. We sat in what appeared to be companionable silence, but unlike my flight with Ducky I was trying desperately to come up with a way to start the conversation. Thankfully Gibbs did that himself. "So the funeral went well I hear."

"Yeah it did. I think Nana Jo would have liked it."

"Good, good. Ducky said your family was very nice."

"Yeah, they are good people. Of course I think Ducky may have been a bit biased by their accent."

"Did he tell any of his stories?"

"Oh. My. God. He was in heaven! Everyone just hung of his every word. I am pretty sure he could have gotten lucky with a few of my Nana's friends if he hadn't been so focused on me."

"So you guys talked?" And here it was. Where he wanted to be.

"Yeah we did. I hope you didn't get too angry at Ducky for not telling you anything. It's just that… I have a _lot_ of … _stuff_ and I just didn't want it made common knowledge. That's all."

Gibbs went to the fire and removed the steaks, placing them on a plate for each of us. I looked around for the cutlery but there was none. Gibbs went into the kitchen and handed me a knife and fork, "Rule 9 DiNozzo."

"I didn't think that applied to dinner at your house."

"It's '_never_ go anywhere without a knife', not 'never go anywhere without a knife _unless_ it is to dinner at your boss's house'." I grinned at the little game we played.

"Right, won't happen again boss."

We ate for a while before Gibbs spoke again, "You know you can tell me anything Tony. It won't change my opinion of you."

"I know but you may regret having said that."

"And why's that?"

So I told him everything I had shared with Ducky, from my mother's death to my father's disapproval of me and my rebellious ways, I told him the reason I was expelled, the _whole_ reason and not just the abbreviated version Ducky had heard. He heard about my screwed up gene pool and my fears of having to possibly face mental illness myself one day regardless of how remote the possibilities realistically were. I told him of my issues of being continually betrayed by those I trusted. Finally I said, "I'm sorry Gibbs. I know, I know, never apologize but I have to. I am sorry I locked you out. I know you were trying to help me and I just wasn't in a place where I could accept your help."

"Well, don't make that mistake again."

I couldn't help but grin, "I won't, I promise."

"Good. Talking about help, I imagine that plane ticket must have cost a pretty penny so if you need any money…" He stopped when I started choking on my beer.

He started slapping me on my back but when I was able to talk again I said, "Well thank you Boss, but I don't think that will be an issue. Firstly, Ducky paid for my ticket when he upgraded me to First Class."

"Really! I knew his mother had some money…"

"And also because… well it would appear I am about to inherit over two million dollars."

Gibbs beer halted halfway to his mouth. "You're kidding me!"

"Nope. Nana left a third of her estate to each of her kids and with Mom gone…"

"It goes to you." I nodded.

He drank up again. "Well next time how about you buy a decent present instead of that Big Ben piece of crap."


	39. 39 - Abby Scuito

**AN: OK so I am really interested to see what you think of this little story. Its a little more light hearted this one. Please let me know in the review section. I hope you enjoy it. **

**39 – Abby Scuito**

Now that things were good with Gibbs and Ducky I knew I had to clear the air with Abby. So the next morning after dropping off my gear at my desk I grabbed a Caf-Pow from the machine and headed down to Abby's domain. I could tell she was in from the fact that the elevator started to pulsate to the beat of her 'music' a floor above her lab. When the doors opened I entered her lab and found her hard at work on one piece of forensic material or another.

I tapped her on the shoulder and grinned as she jumped in fright. However, the grin quickly faded as I realized she was holding a scalpel at my neck. "Ah Abby, you might want to put that down just incase I … you know… sneeze or breathe or something."

"Oh my god Tony I am so sorry. I just have just had some really hinky people cross my path lately and I am just a little on edge."

"Anyone you need to me sort out?"

She put down the scalpel and threw her arms around my neck in her normal Abby fashion. "No but thank you for offering." She pulled back and gave me a quizzical look. "What are you doing?"

I returned her quizzical look, "I wasn't aware I was doing anything." I looked down at my pants just to be on the safe side but nothing seemed to stand out there (so to speak).

"You're hugging me."

"So? You always hug me!"

"Exactly!"

"Exactly what?"

"_I_ hug _you_."

I still didn't understand. "That's what I said."

"No Tony. Usually I hug you but you just kind of stand there with your arms by your side. Today you are hugging me back."

I looked down and noticed my hands were in fact resting on the small of her back. "Oh."

Her grin lit up the room. "My Tony is back!" and she once again threw her arms around my neck. "I have missed this." I couldn't help but grin. I had missed this too.

"Oh I almost forgot." With that she let go of my neck and ran off to retrieve something from her other room, but instead of coming out with a report or a sample as expected she came out with a bouquet of roses. Yes, _black_ roses. "Here."

For the second time that morning Abby had me frowning in confusion. "What did I do to deserve these? You haven't had these back there for months just waiting for me to hug you back, have you?"

"Of course not, they would have died!"

"They're not dead?"

"NO! Just because something is black doesn't mean it is dead Tony."

"OK, then what are they for?"

"Tony! Don't you know what today is?"

I thought for a moment but came up blank, "Nope."

"It's your anniversary silly. You started working here one year ago today! Yay!" and she started jumping up and down clapping.

As my eyes flicked between the not dead black roses and Abby's breasts as she jumped up and down, I realized that today _was_ in fact my anniversary. "Well so it is. Thank you Abby." And I leant in and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, let's go out tonight and celebrate. We can invite Gibbs and Ducky and Gerald… oh it will be so much fun."

I considered saying no but the truth was I actually kind of wanted to go out. It had been a while since I had socialized with anyone whose names I remembered in the morning. Besides, I was trying to let these guys back in. As scared as I was I needed this. As Ducky said, I needed an anchor to stop my self from floating away. "Sounds great Abs."

"Yay, I am going to organize it all. Anywhere in particular you want to go?"

"Nope, leave it up to you." And with that I took my leave and went back up to my desk.

Wow, a year. And what a year it had been. Yep dinner sounded like a good way to forget the last twelve months and start anew.

When I arrived at my desk there was a cup stamped with Gibb's favorite coffee vendor's logo. I tentatively took a sip knowing that Gibb's version of coffee could easily cause my heart to immediately go into palpitations. However, my taste buds were hit with a mild, smooth blend of coffee and steamed milk with a hint of hazelnut and lots and lots of sugar. Just the way I liked it.

"Happy anniversary DiNozzo," Gibbs called from across the room.

"Thanks Boss!"

That evening the five of us went to an Italian restaurant not far from the Navy Yard and close to some clubs. Dinner was full of good food, good company and copious amounts of alcohol. Gibbs and Ducky were ready to head home for the night but we three young ones were ready to keep going. Gibbs left us with an ominous warning, "Tonight is a school night kiddies, and if either of you are not there at 0800 hours, or unable to perform to the best of your abilities you will spend next week doing every disgusting, filthy job I and every other agent at NCIS can think of. Clear?"

"Crystal boss."

"Aye aye Captain Gibbs."

Ducky gave Gerald his own version, "Ditto Gerald."

"Understood Dr Mallard."

We made a hasty retreat to a club that Gerald suggested. The fact that Gerald went to clubs was a shock in itself. The fact it was a _gay_ club answered a few questions.

Abby and I made our way to the bar whilst Gerald hot-footed it over to the dance floor. We downed a succession of shots quickly and were both comfortably buzzed before too long.

As is the way in clubs there wasn't a lot of conversation with the music pumping away so loud so you just tend to look around a lot. Usually I would be eyeing off the ladies on the dance floor, working out which one would be my target for the evening but that sadly was not an option at the moment.

Abby leaned close to my ear, "Oh my god, look at Gerald!"

Out in the middle of the dance floor Gerald was holding court. Everyone had cleared a circle and were watching him tear it up! His moves were amazing and Abby and I just kept looking at each other with our mouths agape and then watching Gerald again. Who knew the quiet medical assistant who, if I am being completely honest, I tended to forget was even in the room half the time, could bust a move like this. Judging by the looks he was getting from the other on lookers, he would have his pick of prime man meat to take home with him. Way to go Gerald!

After the impromptu dance recital Gerald made his choice and went over in the corner to get to know his date better in private. Abby and I turned back to the bar and ordered some more drinks. Within another hour Abby and I were well and truly sloshed and I must admit I was feeling pretty good about how many guys were trying to pick me up. While I didn't swing that way it was still a good ego boost to know that not only women found me attractive.

Abby was also turning away suitors but in her case it was because most of them thought she was a Transvestite.

Both Abby and I were bemoaning the fact that our chances of getting laid tonight were very low; non existent in fact.

She turned her stunning green eyes to me and leant in close to talk to me over the music, her voice slurring, "You know she's an idiot right."

"Who, that Liza Minnelli impersonator? This is a very dark bar Abs."

"Nooooo… Wendy! She is a straight up fool."

"Oh… her," I said with a sneer and downed another shot.

"You Tony DiNozzo," she started to pat my hair with her hand, "you are so…"

"Stupid, dimwitted… what?"

"Amazing." I snorted in disbelief.

"No really Tony you are. I cannot for the life of me work out why she left you. I mean if you were my guy, there would be _no escape mister_." She grabbed my neck and held on with surprisingly strong grip just to emphasis her point. "You really loved her didn't you?" her mouth pouted and her eyes bore into mine.

I could feel my eyes start to sting, a sure sign of tears on the way. I looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with Abby in case I burst into tears. Where was the damn mask I had perfected!

In true Abby fashion she threw her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. "I didn't mean to make you cry Tony. It's just I get so mad when I think about what she did to you. If I could get my hands on her I would… I can't think about what exactly right now because I am too drunk, but if I was sober."

We still held each other and I turned to kiss her cheek as well, "Thanks Abby." She turned her head a bit more and before I knew it we were kissing… on the lips… _passionately_. We soon lost ourselves as our sexual drives over took our inebriated brains. We only stopped when we overheard someone at the bar say, "Gross, we don't want to see any hetro's making out. Go get a room."

We stopped and looked at each other. I quirked and eybrow and she responded, "Sounds like a damn fine idea to me."

We grabbed a cab and were soon on route to Abby's place and we continued making out in the back seat. Even though my place was closer I _never_ took anyone there and I wasn't about to start with Ms Scuito.

Now I know what you are all thinking, something is going to happen and they will come to their senses and will stop before anything happens… Well we didn't! Abby and I spent one unbelievable night together and fell asleep in a tangle of sheets and limbs.

I awoke the next morning to an alarm clock that let out a blood curdling scream at 0630 causing me to sit bolt upright. My head was throbbing and now my heart was beating so fast I thought I was at risk of breaking a rib. Where the hell was I … Oh, that's right! I looked down at the slumbering Abby. How did she sleep through that alarm? I reached over to try and turn of the screaming and she stirred beneath me.

Do I do the bolt? I would if I was any other woman but this was _Abby_. Not only would I see her at work (in an hour and twenty- eight minutes) I would also run the risk of her being able to kill me slowly and painfully and Gibbs would never be able to pin it on her. _Gibbs_! Now that the incessant screaming had stopped I lay back down against the pillow. Oh this was a mistake… how could I have been so stupid.

"Mornin' Tony," Abby mumbles sleepily beside me. Then her eyes shot open as she realized what she said. Yep, I am pretty sure that was the same expression I wore a few minutes ago. We just stared at each other, and then… we both burst out laughing.

"Big night huh," I said when our laughter died down.

"Sure was." She turned and looked at me. "So do we do the talk?"

"I guess there is no getting out of it, make it quick though because I have to get home, showered, dressed and into work pretending I don't have a killer hangover in the next hour and twenty-two minutes."

"Right, let's do it," she sat up against the headboard and patted the pillow beside her and I wriggled up as well.

"We are both adults," I began.

"Exactly, and we both like sex with no strings attached," she countered.

"Precisely. So this…"

"This was just some fun."

"Nothing more," I said.

"Nothing more." she agreed.

"And Gibbs can _never_ find out about this."

"Noooooo, he would kill us."

"Killing us would be a kindness, no he would castrate me first."

"Yep, he would definitely do that."

"Hey, why am I castrated and you get off Scott free?"

"Because I'm Abby!"

I admit she had a point. "So, this night will _never_ happen again," I said.

"Nope, never. And we never _speak_ of it again either."

"Right, so once I walk out that door it will be as if it never happened."

"Never happened, agreed."

We both looked at the clock. She turned to me, "You know we still have an hour and sixteen minutes before we have to be at work."

Thirty minutes later I was on my way home to get ready for work. Surprisingly I walked in with a minute to spare. Gibbs was already at his desk and looked up as I walked in, "Just made it DiNozzo. Not hung over I hope."

"Nope,"_ Yes!_ "Fit as a fiddle Boss." _I want to crawl into a fetal position and die_.

"Good to hear it. Did you make sure Abby got home safely?"

If I had been drinking something then that would be the moment when the liquid would come flying out of my mouth and over my computer screen. Thankfully I wasn't. "Yep, she got home safe and sound."

"Good. Gerald have fun."

_ GERALD! Dear god, did he see us make out? Did he see us leave together? Oh shit, oh shit,_ "Talking about Gerald I just have to run down and see him about… dance lessons." _Oh shit, oh shit._

I shot off a text to Abby as I entered the lift and by the time I arrived at autopsy Abby was flying in the door having flown down the stairs from her lab.

Both of us flying into the room seemed to have startled Ducky but Abby and I both searched the room for our target. "Where's Gerald?" we both shouted at the same time.

"He's checking our stock levels. Whatever is wrong with you two?" Ducky asked us somewhat flustered.

"Wrong, nothing is wrong, how could anything possibly be wrong."

"Yeah Ducky, as if anything could possibly be wrong," Abby pointed to the rear door, "He's in here?"

We both went flying into the room to find Gerald as usual bopping away to his music with his ear buds in. "Gerald!" we screamed together.

"What!" he jumped in fright and turned to us backing up against the shelves as if expecting knife-wielding psychopaths.

I took the lead, "So Gerald, great night last night. You sure have some moves there."

"Ah… thanks Tony?" He glanced nervously between Abby and myself.

"So what time did you end up leaving? We kind of lost track of you after your Saturday Night Fever dance routine."

"I left about 12:30."

I was not sure but I think Abby and I left before that. From the look on Abby's face she also believed this to be true.

"Oh, OK, yeah Abby and I left a little before that, didn't we Abby?"

She was wringing her hands and looked like a deer in the headlights. "Yeah just after twelve I think."

Gerald looked between us and grinned and maliciously, "Yeah it must have been hard to work out the time with your tongues down each others throats."

I would have loved to see a photo of Abby and I at that moment!

Abby stepped forward and waved her finger menacingly under Gerald's nose. "Gerald if you say anything to anyone I will… Dammit, why can I not come up with any decent murder scenarios lately?"

"I think what Ms Scuito is trying to say, and I must concur, is that we would_ really_ appreciate it if you erred on the side of … discretion in this matter."

"You weren't showing much discretion last night!"

"I swear to god Gerald I will put a bullet in your shoulder right now…"

He held up his hands in surrender, "Relax you guys. I would never say anything. I get it; I know what it is like to get caught up in the heat of the moment. Your secret is safe with me."

We both heaved an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you Gerald."

"Yeah thanks Gerald, we owe you one."

"You owe me more than one but I will hold on to that little debt until I am ready to cash in."

I walked Abby back to her lab relieved that we had managed to avoid one hell of a fucked up situation.

We stood awkwardly in the middle of her lab. "So…"

"So…" she agreed. "I should get… Gibbs would be… you know." I started to back away needing to make a quick escape from this awkwardness that I really hoped would not eventuate.

"Tony," I turned back and Abby flew into my arms like it was any other day. "I don't want things to be different between us. I don't want us to be all awkward and stuff."

"Me either Abs."

"So this is the last we will _ever_ speak of it, OK."

"I thought this morning was the last we were ever going to talk about it."

"Well it was but now _this_ is the last time."

"You sure about that, Abs?"

"Ab-so-posi-tutely!"

"Ok then. Done."

"Good now go outside and come back in like you would any other day."

"What?" I didn't really know where she was going with this.

"Just do it!"

"OK," I turned on my heels, walked out the door and then walked straight back in again. Just as I would any other day I said, "Hey Abs."

"Hey Tony, do anything exciting last night?"

I grinned, this is the same question she asks me every morning. "Well if I did I would be too much of a gentleman to tell you about it."

"Huh, struck out hey?"

"You know it."

We grinned at each other and carried on as if the night before had never happened. And we never spoke of it again... well not to each other.


	40. 40 - And Then There Were Three

**AN: I am thinking I might have to slow down the posting of this story. I am finding it really hard to write now that we are actually up to what happens on the show. When I was making up my own stories it was easy but now that I am having to write as the show progresses it is harder to tread that fine line between explaining the story as per the show and focusing on Tony's emotions and experiences.**

**Anyway, I am still plugging away but might only post twice a week until I get more ahead. Now, here's ****Kate! Enjoy.**

**40 - And Then There Were Three**

Gibbs and I had been working together for coming up to two years and were still yet to find a third member of the MCRT who could go the distance. There had been a few standouts, both good and bad.

Tyrone Mills was a fresh out of the academy rookie who didn't seem to flinch every time Gibbs sent a glare his way. However, his ability as an investigator was... well it was shit to be perfectly honest. I don't think this guy could find a clue if he was in a Scooby Doo episode!

The Director made us give him a month to find his footing but the only footing he got was from Gibbs as he kicked his ass out of the building.

Truc Ha was so quiet we often forgot she was there until she would suddenly speak up, often making Gibbs and I jump. She was a good investigator, seemed to let Gibb's moods wash over her with apparently no affect. We worked well together in the field and shared a few laughs and jokes, and she had far superior tech skills than Gibbs and myself. She was a _great_ fit. Or so we thought. She quite three weeks in. Turns out she thought Gibbs was "nothing but a bully," and "used prehistoric interrogation techniques, not on his suspects, but on his own staff" and "incapable of turning on his computer let alone adopting cutting edge investigative technology." I was a "deplorable chauvinist" and "couldn't fathom how I managed to get my job done when I spent so much time ogling any female in a one hundred foot radius," and "was more concerned about when I could leave to hook up with a woman then the safety of the US Navy." Ouch!

That little resignation letter caused HR to send Gibbs and I to many seminars such as: _Sensitivity in the Workplace; Are You Managing Your Work Hours Efficiently; How to Communicate with Diplomacy, Tact and Credibility_; and my personal favorite _Sexual Harassment in the Workplace is Never a Compliment. _

Then there was Shauna Campbridge. Now she was a great investigator, she could see links between things that even Gibbs and I missed, and that was saying something. However, she would burst into tears if Gibbs so much as looked like he was going to frown. Now I tried to insert myself between Shauna and Gibbs as often as possible, tried to divert Gibbs ire towards myself, but even if I managed that and received a head slap for my effort, I would look over and Shauna would be starting to tear up. We let her go. Damn shame really.

David Blakely was squirrelly little guy who had the brains, had the disposition but wouldn't do _anything_ without a direct order from Gibbs and I mean _anything._ He wouldn't even go to the can unless Gibbs told him he could. I couldn't give him even the most basic instructions like typing up a BOLO unless he phoned Gibbs to confirm that that was what he wanted him to do. He would never take the initiative, standing on the side of a crime scene until Gibbs screamed an order at him. Even when the Director had had enough of him and fired him in the middle of the bullpen, he actually told the Director, "I will need to check with Gibbs that that is what he wants." I have never seen Director Morrow look so taken aback. I just burst out laughing. That is the only time Director Morrow gave me a head slap.

Then there was Vivian Blackadder. Now she probably came the closest to surviving. We had her for seven weeks. She was a good investigator, had been with the FBI for a few years and received commendations for her work. She could stand up to Gibbs and she took my irreverent playboy persona in her stride. I don't know if she saw through it or just trusted Gibbs that there must have been a depth to me for me to have lasted so long.

Sadly she stuffed up on a mission. Her personal vendetta to catch the man responsible for her brother's death caused her to be careless. She spooked our target by watching him too intently, he in turn managed to get a jump on us and by the time Gibbs caught up with him he had a hand grenade which exploded and Gibbs flew down a metal set of stairs and nearly broke his neck. Her mistake got her kicked of the MCRT and she went back to the FBI with her tail between her legs. Shame, I like Viv.

In between the standouts we had people come and go. Some would last a few days, some only a few hours. Some we let go because they weren't good enough; some fled from the building in tears or furiously swearing they would never return. I was beginning to think we would never find our third but Gibbs was confident. "Just need patience DiNozzo. They are out there, we just have to find them."

"And what makes you so sure."

"I found you didn't I!"

OK couldn't argue with that logic.

I had finally given up worrying about our third (Gibbs having never apparently cared about them), and I decided to let the Director do all our worrying for us. We were still getting results and that was probably the only reason Director Morrow managed to keep SecNav from pulling us off the MCRT. And as is always the way, once you stop looking, that is when you will find it.

In the meantime most of my money had come through in dribs and drabs from Nana Jo's estate, and while there were still a few bits and pieces to sort out, my bank account was currently sitting at a very respectable $1,734,254.44 after paying off my mortgage in full, all my credit card debt and buying a few more pieces of furniture including a kick ass state of the art home theatre system. I considered changing my bed, but to be honest the idea of waking up every morning to an empty space beside was just to depressing to deal with at the moment. The bed could wait for a little while longer.

I had also decided that a change in wardrobe was required and bought a couple of nice suits to see what all the fuss was about. What can I say, I loved my suits, they just felt so good on, not scratchy and itchy like the one suit I owned previously. And shoes, good shoes were_ so_ much better for your feet than the thirty dollar pairs I was buying at Super Saver Shoes. I couldn't believe what I had been missing all these years. If anyone questioned me about my new wardrobe, I would simply say that I had a friend in the business who was hooking me up. I also had Steve set me up with an investment broker and we were looking at a few properties around Washington that would give me some good returns. That side of my life at least was sorted. Now for work.

Caitlin 'Kate' Todd had _pah!_ Now _pah!_ doesn't necessarily mean I have any sort of sexual attraction to someone. It is just that jolt of energy I get from someone, be they a lover, a work mate or just a friend. Gibbs, Ducky and Abby had _pah!, _Wendy obviously had _pah!_ and now Kate had _pah! _From the first moment I met her I felt it. She was smart, fiery, strong, took no bullshit and most importantly, Gibbs didn't scare her.

We met her when we investigated the death of a Marine on Air Force One. Kate was part of the President's protection detail and remained behind to "assist" our investigation. Actually she wanted to_ lead_ the investigation, as did the FBI and my personal favorite FBI Special Agent Tobias Fornell. We managed to ditch the FBI and Fornell when we ordered the plane to fly to Washington while they were on the tarmac making calls to their Director. Ahh I still remember Fornell's face as that plane pulled away. Classic!

Now it was just down to a pissing match between Gibbs and Kate as to who would lead the investigation and, unsurprisingly, Gibbs won. However, it was during the course of our investigation that we found out that the esteemed Secret Service Agent Caitlin Todd did a _big_ no no. She dated a colleague. Now I don't see it as a big deal, I mean NCIS doesn't have rules against this sort of thing (Gibbs does and boy wouldn't_ that_ would cause some sleepless nights in years to come) but the Secret Service were absolutely dead set against it. And that is the reason we ended up with Kate. She handed in her resignation and Gibbs scooped her up.

Now Gibbs and I were partners and it was very important that partners share things so of course he let me know as soon as he could that there was going to be a new member on the team. He called me and I believe the conversation went something like this:

"DiNozzo, Kate's starting on Monday. That going to be a problem?"

"No Boss." Click.

See communication is_ so_ important between partners.

So when I walked in on the Monday (three minutes late on purpose after waiting in my car for ten minutes) I of course feigned surprise and spoke of my displeasure of not having been consulted. Gibbs, knowing how much I liked to allow others to underestimate me, of course went along with the ruse. Not actively participating, but not calling me out either. This had been my compromise after the Wendy fiasco. I allowed Gibbs, Abby and Ducky to see _me_ but everyone else had to earn that privilege. They only saw what I _wanted_ them to see.

So Gibbs "appeased" my hurt feelings by getting me to show Kate around and introduce her to the team. I showed her the lunchroom, the interview rooms, around the office all the while flirting outrageously with her and also sounding like the jealous stepchild. By the time we arrived at Abby's lab she didn't know whether to slap me or hug me.

Abby welcomed Kate with open arms, literally! Kate looked quite flummoxed at being engulfed by someone for … well for so many reasons really; the way Abby looked, the fact we were in a federal agency, the fact I was leering at them. I couldn't help but have a little twinge of genuine jealousy at how quickly Abby took to Kate, considering how badly_ our_ first meeting went. However I pushed that little green-eyed monster away and made some sexually inappropriate comment about threesomes, which garnered a knowing smile from Abby and a look of utmost horror from Kate. By the looks of it Kate agreed with my seminar lecturer that _Sexual Harassment in the Workplace is Never a Compliment._ After another hug from Abby our next stop was the morgue.

Ducky and Gerald were currently in the middle of doing an autopsy so I was interested to see how she would react to an open cadaver. I was not disappointed. While she was not overly repulsed, I could see little flashes of disgust on her face and the hand over the mouth is always a good indication of someone trying not to vomit.

I decided it was time to play one of my favorite games that I knew Ducky would play with me: _Name that Vital Organ._ Now I know what all the vital organs are and what they look like, after all I did do a Physical Education course and one of those subject was anatomy. Ducky _also_ knows that I know what they are but has learnt to not say anything in front of others. It was all part of the Tony 'why-did-Gibbs-hire-this-dumb-ass-again?' DiNozzo persona I like to present to new people.

Ducky pulled out the liver, "Pancreas?" I guessed.

"Liver," was Ducky's deadpan response.

He pulled out pancreas, "Stomach?"

"No this is the pancreas my dear boy."

Next came a kidney, "Spleen!" I exclaimed excitedly and I could hear Kate's muttered "good grief" behind me.

"Kidney," Ducky never batted an eyelid.

"Oh," I said trying to sound disappointed.

One more before we headed off and when ducky pulled out the bowel I incorrectly guessed, "Duodenum?"

"No Anthony, this is the large intestine or the bowel. You know, that thing that is full of … well anyway."

"Dammit! Next time Duck, I'm going to get one right next time."

"I have every confidence in the world you will my lad," he said and sent me a smirk behind Kate's back. He may not agree with me presenting a false front to people, but he did enjoy participating.

We finished off the tour and I returned Kate to Gibbs who then took her off to meet with Director Morris and arrange her official bits and pieces.

For the next eighteen months Kate worked along side us and it _worked_. Don't get me wrong, there were times when Kate and I hated each other, she drove me crazy with her Catholic-girl-can-do-no-wrong shtick and of course my try-and-screw-any-woman-in-my-view attitude made her want to slit my throat.

Kate actually confessed to me once that she went to Gibbs one night, shortly after she started and after we had had a particularly bitter fight, and told him to fire me. When I asked her what he said to that she said he told her, "Not gonna happen Kate." When she asked why he told her to "scratch the surface Kate. He may look like dull lead but underneath is precious." Gibbs would never say anything like that to me directly, but knowing he thought that, well that made me feel pretty special.

I would eventually come to think of Kate as that sister I never knew I never wanted, ha ha. No seriously I did come to think of Kate as a sister and I still miss Kate every single day.


	41. 41 - And Then There Were Four

**41 – And Then There Were Four**

Timothy (No middle name) McGee, also know as but not limited to (not by a long way people): McGeek, McGoo, Elf Lord, Thom E Gemcity and my personal favorite Probie wan Kenobi.

Did McGee have _pah!_? Kind of, it started out more like _p-p-p-pah?_ But eventually, yeah he got there.

I gave little Timmy a hard time (still do) but the truth is he was my first Probie and will always hold a special place in my McHeart.

I remember the first time I saw Tim and after having only spoken to him on the phone, he looked _exactly_ like I expected except I was expecting nerd glasses and a pocket protector. OK I can't be too mean about nerd glasses because I wore them through school (upgrading to cool glasses and contact lenses in college) and had only just got around to having laser eye surgery two months earlier.

Anyway, back to Tim. After talking to him on the phone I thought that he was as green as a new sapling. When we arrived at the crime scene he was actually wearing a mask to block out the smell of the decomposing body. _A mask!_ Even Gibbs called him Michael Jackson and in hindsight that was a very cool pop culture thing for Gibbs to say. So I took my little McChick under my wing for the duration of the case and managed to teach him a thing or two, like how to enter a house using nothing but a stone and an imaginary game of football. His mouth was opening and closing so much after that I thought he was part fish. I even game him a few pointers about how to organize his brothel of a desk (lets face it, if anyone knows how to keep a space organized, it is someone with OCD). He also managed to teach me a thing or two about how computer skills like his may not be a bad thing to have access to.

At the end of the day though, the case was solved in no small way because of one Special Agent Timothy McGee.

But his mad computer skills were not that thing that me sit up and take notice, nor his stammering whenever he came within ten feet of Gibbs. No, it was what he did to get a date with a woman. From the first time McGee heard Abby's husky, sultry tones over the phone he was smitten. It was lust at first … listen I suppose. Of course I told him that she wasn't his type, and more importantly he wasn't _her_ type, I mean come on, once you've had me … why go McGee? (I kid Tim). So anyway, I basic said that unless he was willing to get a tattoo on his butt he could kiss any chance with Abby goodbye. And do you know what he did? _He got a tattoo on his butt! _For a woman he had _never seen!_ You could have knocked me down with a feather when he told me that. I mean I have done some things to get a woman to sleep with me but permanently defacing my ass for a woman I had never seen? Wow, I mean _wow! _The boy had balls!

If he was willing to go after something like a woman with that much gusto, maybe his powers as a Special Agent were just as outstanding! We continued to use McGee over the next eight months or so especially when it came to anything computerish, because quite frankly, the man was the Michelangelo of all things cyber. I must admit that watching him work his magic really made me appreciate the power of the computer and I actually undertook quite a few computer courses over the course of the next few years. I would never tell anyone I did this, and if they noticed any improvement in my computer prowess then no one chose to comment on it.

We weren't really looking for a forth member, I mean Gibbs and I had been doing fine as a two man team, and now we had a third we seemed to have rounded out the team well, but there was _something_ about that little McGenius. He wormed his way into our team (and Abby's bed) and was soon the official fourth and final member of our little family.

Team Gibbs was complete!


	42. 42 - Ari Haswari

**AN: Only a short one but I hope you enjoy it.**

**42 – Ari Haswari**

I hate this guy. I hate him with a white-hot passion that makes me want to hit, kick, throw, shoot, destroy anything in my way whenever I think of what he took from me. And yet, if not for him I would not have met his sister. Was it worth losing one to gain the other? That is a question I have never been able to answer to any sort of satisfaction.

As much as I _loathe _giving this man any more time than I have to, this memoir is for all those people and events that had an affect on my life. He, sadly, falls into that category… in a major way. Let me explain who he is… _was._

Ari Haswari was trained as a Mossad officer practically from birth whose sole purpose was to infiltrate Hamas and become a spy for Mossad. However, what he eventually became was so much more than that. He was a double agent, he was a rogue agent, he was a terrorist, and he was a murderer.

Our first encounter with him was when he took Ducky, Gerald and later Kate hostage in our own building. He had snuck in to Autopsy in a body bag and was to retrieve the possessions of a terrorist Gibbs had taken out. His possessions just happened to include a vial of smallpox, which of course was Ari's ultimate goal. During the hostage situation Gerald received a gunshot to his shoulder, which would bring Gerald's career to an end and cause us to lose not just a valuable member of NCIS, but a friend of mine, one of the few who knew me 'before'.

Kate later told me that she had the opportunity to take him out but something made her stop. "There was something in his eyes," she told me. Oh Kate, how I wish you had taken that opportunity, I really, _really_ do.

Gibbs went down with, of course, the plan to apprehend if not kill Ari but as per any good agent, Ari had an escape plan and Gibbs walked straight into it and managed to get a shot in the shoulder for his troubles. Thankfully Gibbs injury was only a through and through so there was no permanent damage, unlike Ducky's assistant.

At this stage though, we still had no idea who this man was other than a terrorist working with Hamas. We didn't have any ID or any place to start. After Ari escaped, Gibbs became a man obsessed. We were concerned that his single-minded obsession with finding out who this man was may be clouding his judgment. I did call him Captain Ahab once and the look I received for my comment certainly discouraged me from bringing it up again. The search went on for months.

Eventually it was Tiny Tim McGee who came up with a way to identify him, and in the process earn a special place in that hard, cold heart of Gibbs.

Our paths would cross again with Ari, this time when he took Kate hostage during an attempt to assassinate President Bush and Israeli Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon. He wanted to know about the President's helicopter, Marine One, and how to tell which one was the real one but Kate told him there was no way to tell which one was which so their plan was basically thwarted there and then. He ended up shooting one of his terrorist pals (the same woman who had actually planned to kill me later that day so … thanks?) and told Kate he was with Mossad.

The FBI later informed us that he was working undercover in both Hamas and al Qaeda for Mossad and that they had also arranged for him to leave the country so you can just imagine how happy that made Gibbs. They did however, have a face to face before he left and Gibbs managed to get some payback for Gerald by shooting Ari in the shoulder too. Sadly, that was not the last time we would meet Ari.

Shame he didn't put that bullet between his eyes!


	43. 43 - SWAK

**AN: I thought about not calling this chapter SWAK because I don't want to name them after any episodes, but then I thought that if Tony was writing he memoirs, then he probably _would_ call this chapter SWAK (because he has never watched an episode of NCIS ha ha). So there you go. Now I am not going into the story as to _why_ this happened because this is all from Tony's point of view so all the stuff with Abby, Gibbs and the rest, he would be oblivious too. I hope you enjoy.**

**43 – SWAK**

_Yersinia Pestis_ _is the causative agent of the systematic invasive infection disease often referred to as the plague. Perhaps the most famous incidence of any disease was the devastating Black Plague of 8th to 14th century Europe that eradicated 25 million people (nearly 25% of the population) and marked the end of the Dark Ages. Untreated infections have a mortality rate approaching 100%. _Information supplied by Katia Sutyak.

Yes, that's right. I, Anthony D DiNozzo, got the plague. _The fucking_ _Pneumonic Plague!_

I mean, seriously! Who in this day and age gets the goddamn plague? Ok more people than I would have actually suspected _but_ treat them with antibiotics and they usually recover. However, could antibiotics treat my infection? _Of course not! _ No, I had to go and get infected with a special mutant strain that was genetically modified to be resistant to antibiotics, created by some mad scientist hell bent on revenge against an NCIS agent. _Any_ NCIS agent. No I just had to ride it out. That was the scariest week of my life.

It all started thusly.

Upon arriving at NCIS on this fateful day McGee was handing out the mail and on the back of an envelope was a SWAK. You all know what that is right? Sealed with a kiss, red lipstick over the seal? Anyway, since crazy Charlotte I had always been vigilant about not telling anyone where I lived and instead would tell them they could contact me at work. Now I had received flowers, packages (usually with ladies underwear in it), love letters and nude photos all sent to my work address so when I saw this envelope I (arrogantly I admit) assumed it was from one of my lady friends who wasn't quite finished riding the DiNozzo log ride (too much?). I opened said envelope and as I blew it open I was engulfed by a cloud of white powder which went in my hair, in my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth… everywhere.

Gibbs immediately evacuated the floor, Kate called in the bio threat and got the emergency procedures rolling on that,and McGee stood there gasping like a fish out of water. Kate, McGee, Gibbs and myself went down to the showers for decontamination.

At this stage I must admit I wasn't really worried. I mean there had been so many 'white powder' scares since 9/11 and the subsequent Anthrax attack, and they had all turned out to be talcum powder, foot powder, flour or some such innocuous substance. The chance of this being something dangerous was so remote as to be laughable. Also all mail addressed to federal agencies went through an irradiating process which kills any DNA carrying microbes (thanks for that little pointer McMailmaster).

I was actually more annoyed at the fact that my favorite clothes had to be incinerated, I was about to be treated as a human pin cushion, and would probably be kept in Bethesda Naval Hospital for observation for a couple of days. Looks like I will have to cancel the plans to catch up with one of my aforementioned, underwear sending, lady friends this evening. Mind you, I got a lot of action just saying I was a Federal Agent, so imagine how many more girls I could pull with a biohazard scare story. 'Hero agent opens suspicious letter to save his fellow teammates a fate worse than death!' Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

So Kate and I (oh yeah Kate got to join me on this exciting journey because she had a cold and she was supposedly more susceptible to infection, and wasn't she happy about _that!)_, were transported off to Bethesda Naval Hospital to await blood tests, test results on the powder, or impending death, whichever came first.

Time for a weird coincidence; my doctor, Brad Pitt (no relation) was the guy that ran into me during my last game of basketball causing me to fall over the other guy and brake my leg! Can you _believe_ it! I must admit, as friendly as I was on the outside, I had this flash of "I want to kill you for destroying my chance at going pro!" but thankfully I chose to keep that to myself. I mean it wasn't really his fault. It was just one of those things. Besides, you don't want to get the guy who could possibly save your life off side now do you.

So it was late into the evening, possibly early morning (it was hard to tell as we were being zapped by germ killing blue lights and there was no clock to speak of), when I finally realized that just _maybe_ there might be something wrong. I started to sweat. It was only a little at first, kind of like if you walk around on a humid day, just a light sheen on my forehead but I still refused to admit to myself that something was happening. Kate seemed to be getting a little nervous too.

But then, it happened, confirmation that I had contracted the pneumonic plague. As bad as that was, do you know what was worse? The fact that I had managed to get Kate infected too. I mean, if it had just been _me_ then maybe I could have felt a little comfort in the fact that everyone else was fine. But if Kate died, then that was_ two_ women my foolish and childish behavior would have killed; first mom and now Kate. She had to be OK; she just had to.

Over the next twenty-four hours I went from a healthy man to someone as close to death as humanly possible.

The fever increased, I swung from burning up to freezing cold more times than I could count and then the cough started. It was just a tickle in the back of the throat, more annoying than painful really. After a few hours of that the coughs started to produce some sputum (if that is too gross for you then you might want to skip the rest of this chapter!), not much at first just like if you have a light bronchial infection, but eventually the volume increased and the color turned a nasty yellowy-orange. And weak! I have never felt so weak in my life, not even after running the Boston Marathon. Lifting my arm seemed like a mammoth effort. It was like someone had increased the earth's gravitational pull or something. I could hear Kate coughing and sneezing over in the other bed but I couldn't build up enough strength to raise my head and check on her. All I wanted to do was sleep but how could I sleep if Kate was over there dying? God I hoped she was going to be OK.

The next thing I noticed was that my lungs were no longer functioning correctly. It was like I was drowning on the inside. It is a really weird sensation, imagine having someone sitting on your chest and then having a whole glass of water go down the wrong way. All you want to do is cough to get rid of the water but that big fat dude on your chest is stopping you from taking in enough air to cough it out. But unlike when you swallow water the wrong way, this doesn't just last a few minutes, it keeps going on and on and on, your breathing gets shallower and shallower as the fluid fills your lungs until you are basically panting like a dog after a long walk.

Eventually you are not getting enough oxygen in your lungs to keep your blood red enough. Parts of your body start to turn blue, your nose, fingers, lips all your extremities start to go blue. You feel cold as what blood there is, moves from your outer body to your inner organs, channeling what little oxygen there is to protect those organs vital to your continued existence. The only red blood you see is the lumpy stuff that you are now coughing up out of your lungs that are now so damaged from the constant coughing and hacking. The pain is _incredible;_ it feels like you are coughing up glass. Every breath you take, every cough you do slices through your lungs and throat. _ This_ is what it feels like to die. There was no way I was coming back from this.

I'm not really sure what happened after that. I remember Kate standing over me but she wasn't sick. Could that be right? I mean she got it too … didn't she? Was my fevered mind coming up with hallucinations? Was she dead and I was seeing an angel? _Was I dead?_ Then suddenly Gibbs was standing over me, standing close, too close to someone who had the plague. Get back Gibbs! I can't make you sick too. Please don't make me responsible for your death as well. I must be hallucinating. He hits me and be damned if it didn't feel real. In the most menacing voice I have ever heard dream Gibbs said, "_You. Will. Not. Die!"_ and pressed something into my hand. I mumbled back something unintelligible. Now that I was delirious it wouldn't be long now. I just needed to sleep. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I had to sleep, I had to let go, just give up.

"_You. Will. Not. Die!"_ Again I could hear Gibbs giving me an order. I don't know how long it was but every time I woke and wanted to give up I would hear that voice say, "_You. Will. Not. Die!"_ It felt like an eternity.

But eventually, after the aforementioned eternity, I would wake up and not feel like giving up. I felt like fighting and I didn't need that disembodied Gibbs voice to tell me not to die. My own voice was telling me that. I don't know how long it was but eventually I started to become aware of my surroundings again. And the strange thing was, I was holding a phone in my hand. Was this what Gibbs gave me? Was I not hallucinating? Did he _hit me on the head _when I was dying? Of course he did. He was Gibbs and that was his version of crying and wringing his hands.

"_You. Will. Not. Die!"_ Damn straight!

I remained in hospital recovering from near death for several more days and I received visits from everyone. When Gibbs came in I asked him even though it still hurt to talk and my voice was barely more than a scratchy whisper, "Why did you give me my phone?"

"Because you weren't dying."

"OK… did you think I wanted to order a pizza or something?"

He sighed, clearly annoyed at my idiocy, "Rule 3 DiNozzo!"

"Seriously? I didn't think that would apply if I was dying of the plague Gibbs."

"It's '_never_ be unreachable' DiNozzo, not 'never be unreachable unless you have the plague'!"

"Of course Boss. How lax of me."

After a few days of recuperating I found myself alone one evening so I decided to call my Dad. We hadn't spoken since the last time I called to tell him not to come to the wedding he had no intention of coming too. Just thinking about that got my blood boiling again. I knew NCIS wouldn't have called him because I didn't have him listed as my "In case of emergency contact:" person. In fact, since removing Wendy I didn't have _anyone_ listed. Had I died from this, there would have been no one for NCIS to call. In that moment I felt so alone. So I called my Dad but it wasn't a good conversation. I was holding back all my hurt and resentment I still felt from him missing my wedding, I wasn't strong enough yet to have that conversation, but I also needed to know he was still there; that he would care if I died if nothing else. We talked of inconsequential things, things that held little importance to either of us, subjects that would not get us fighting. We both seemed a bit on edge. I was starting to get tired and I started coughing a bit on the phone.

"You sound awful, Junior. Are you alright?"

I thought about telling him, telling him I almost died the other day, to hear the relief in his voice as my survival from the plague. But what if he _didn't_ sound relieved? What if he made some throw away comment making me so angry that it could ruin any chance of us having a relationship going forward? No, I couldn't face that, not now.

Instead I just said, "I'm alright Dad, had a touch of the flu but I'm OK now. Nothing to worry about."


End file.
